


Under the Hood

by thepriexperience



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gen, Multi, here we go again, i wish i knew how to quit you, multiple books in one, please love my fictional family as much as i do, repost, revival, uth rides eternal and i'm not sorry about it, where does it end pala; when will i have my life back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2020-12-01 21:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 88
Words: 196,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20909216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepriexperience/pseuds/thepriexperience
Summary: | Under the Hood; Into the Heart | a love story of motor oil and telepathyDean loves the Impala. And she- She loves him. When Baby unexpectedly turns human, that love will change into something neither ever planned for.| The Hunters' Rose | a love story of second chances and changesBecky Rosen learned her lesson after almost selling her soul to a demon and has spent the last three years helping hunters do their job, even if she’s stuck to the sidelines. When Sam Winchester shows up on her front porch with his sick brother, they’ll both realize how much they’ve changed.| Beyond the Steel | a love story of innocence and desireDean is losing himself to the Mark, and he needs Pala more than ever. A run-in with a genie and an unspoken wish leads to the unexpected.| Into the Shallows | a love story of loose ends and fears to be facedBecky lost a good friend and nearly lost her life because a man died on her watch. It’s time to tie up loose ends. Will Becky face her fears, or will she drown?| Suffer the Brand | a love story of influence and devotionDean searches for his wife, Pala, as she cuts a path of destruction across the country.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Starting at any point after the Winchester brothers find the bunker, Under the Hood is an AU that doesn't reference much past Swan Song and generally disregards canon unless canon suits its purposes. There are five books that are tightly woven together, but the first installment- Under the Hood; Into the Heart - can be read as a stand alone. 
> 
> You may have read this story upon its initial release in April 2015, so if this seems familiar, that's why. I'll attempt to move on to something new eventually, but let us be honest, I can't quit this family.
> 
> Thank you for being here. Here we go again.

At first, she is just a car, and she has no knowledge of it. No thoughts. No feelings. She is exactly as she appears. As Sal Moriarty makes his trips and passes out his Bibles, she is only cold steel.  
  
John Winchester buys her, and she starts to wake up. Not sentient, but no longer just four tires and a frame. Somehow, she starts to have moments of clarity. She learns how to watch the family she belongs to; her first memory is of Mary Winchester's eyes, staring into the visor's mirror to check a flawless face.  
  
They call her The Impala, and she has a title, a purpose, but no name.  
  
She remembers Dean's ride home from the hospital, her first look at the tiny face. Seeing him through her window panes, something happens that she doesn't understand. It takes her years to figure it out, but the first time she feels is the first time she sees Dean. She feels protective, experiences affection.  
  
By the time Sam is born, she's starting to figure things out. She can think, though she shouldn't; feels though she can't. She is aware of what she is, knows that what she's capable of isn't normal. But, Sam's chubby arms and Dean's excitement at having a baby brother stir things in her, and she doesn't care about the natural order of things. She cares about this family.  
  
She mourns the loss of Mary, misses the man John used to be. Mostly, she loves those boys with everything she is and is not. She watches as they grow, with her mirrors and panes and headlights, and eventually, it is Dean she loves the most.  
  
Dean takes care of her, touches her gently, talks to her like she can answer back. She bonds with him, pushes her abilities for him, because he makes it up to her time and time again. He calls her Baby, and she has a name at last. The more emotion he puts into her, the more she _becomes_. She begins to think of herself as Pala, not just The Impala. Pala remembers how Dean rebuilt her both times she shattered. She doesn't feel pain, not exactly, not the way humans do- _when Dean took a crowbar to her, that's the closest she's ever come to real hurt_\- but she can feel **wrong.** She can feel **broken**. She missed him when he died, then spent hours in Lisa's garage wondering if she'd pass away from loneliness while he grieved the loss of his baby brother. Dean has coaxed her back to rightness, made her whole again.  
  
He speaks her language, and Pala wants for nothing. She knows his as well, but more than that, she knows his thoughts. She can't remember the first time she heard his innermost words, the things he keeps for himself, but she doesn't question it. She is a car that can think: How much stranger is it, really, that she can hear the things Dean keeps locked inside of himself?  
  
She doesn't have it in her to be jealous when he takes girls into her backseat and runs his hands over their curves like he does to hers, not when Pala knows all too well how lonely Dean is. It makes her curious, though, what it would feel like to be able to touch as well as _be_ touched. She likes to imagine, sometimes, how she would look if she were like her boys instead of what she is, if she were human like the girls that have laid on worn cushions and cried out their pleasure. Brunettes, blondes, redheads; pale, dark, and in between. Pala thinks she would be long (_tall, she reminds herself_) and curved, like the women Dean seems to favor, but she would be strong, powerful- She would be herself, but not. She can't help but wonder, year after year, what it would be like to have skin instead of vinyl, hair instead of paint.   
  
What it would be like to be a woman instead of an object.  
  
Pala is her boys' home, but she would like to be their friend. She has stories she would like to share with both.  
  
When they find the bunker, Pala sleeps surrounded by her kind who are not her kind, and she misses having her boys, especially Dean, safe inside the only embrace she can give them. She appreciates the protection from the elements- _she's older, and the cold, the rain, the dust: it all does things to her it didn't used to-_ but she feels lonely more often. Even if she is glad they have a roof larger than her own to sleep under, she misses the closeness that came with them sinking into her cushions, relaxing into the familiar.  
  
So, Pala is surprised when Dean opens her door one night and slides into the driver's seat, but does not turn the ignition. His thoughts are fuzzy, and when she focuses, she finds a bottle of whiskey, his fingers wrapped around the neck.  
  
_Fucking tired of this shit,_ thinks Dean.  
  
The rest of his thoughts are less concrete, images of times past, of people lost. His sorrow and regret run so deep that it makes Pala ache with the need to hold him tight, the way she has seen so many women do.  
  
He stays with her for a long time, thinking with no direction [_blood, so much, death everywhere; Ben coulda been my boy, Lisa coulda been my wife; little Sammy saying his first words, good and evil easy to spot; the taste of liquor_] until he finally gets out, closes the door and trails his hand along her side.  
  
"Night, Baby."  
  
More than she ever has, Pala longs to answer him.  
  
She wants to scream, call after him as the door to the garage shuts behind him. She feels almost human in her desperation, her frustration, wanting to be with him, to be able to love him in every way and not be limited by a form that does not match her spirit.  
  
She's wondered before: If her sentience means she has a soul. She has always dismissed the notion; she knows she's a car. In this moment, however, Pala knows she does, because she couldn't hurt like this if she didn't.  
  
And then- Pain. She's never felt it before, but she knows what she feels now is what she has only seen before on the Winchesters' faces. Hot and twisting and more she doesn't have words for. Agony- Bright, shifting, changing, steel giving way beneath unseen force.  
  
Until: Pala blinks.


	2. One

It's dark in the garage, just one emergency light overhead, but it's enough to see by. She's sitting on the floor, surrounded by a pile of the Winchesters' belongings. A box of cassettes, a stray pair of boots, weapons and salt and holy water.   
  
_She's sitting._  
  
She looks down -with eyes, not mirrors or headlights- and finds a naked woman's body in the middle of the pile.   
  
_(skin instead of vinyl)_  
  
Pala reaches behind herself, grabbing blindly for the old army blanket that the Winchesters have kept in the backseat for over thirty years, and wraps it around her, gets unsteadily to her feet and glances around, locates the door. She feels strange, her whole body a little shaky, and she walks slowly, gaining confidence with each step, but when she crosses the threshold, she is in uncharted territory.   
  
It's just as dark inside as it is in the garage, and Pala continues at a slow pace, the tile cold under her feet, and she shivers, very aware of her nakedness.   
  
She has skin. As she wanders around the bunker, searching for Dean or Sam, Pala marvels at it, at her body in general. She can't tell for sure, not with the dark surrounding her, but she thinks...she _feels_ pretty.  
  
_(hair falling over her collarbone; hair instead of paint)_   
  
There's an open door off the kitchen, light streaming from it, and she steps inside the small room and discovers a mirror. Pala blinks at her reflection. The face staring back at her is one she's often imagined, a square jaw and skin a shade darker than Dean's but still light; the long hair is black, just like her paint was, shining in the light. She looks closer, finds that her eyes are the exact color of steel, and she smiles, her first, because she is beautiful and warm and human, but she is still _her_.  
  
_(a woman instead of an object; a person, not a car)_  
  
She reaches up to her throat, finds a necklace there, a thin silver chain, and she lifts it up to stare at the charm.   
  
Legos.   
  
The boys' legos.   
  
Pala closes her fist around them, breathes in deep, revels in the simple sensation of air filling her lungs. Everything is so _new_, but this, this is old, and it reminds her of who she is, what she was. It doesn't tell her how this is happening, and even through her excitement, she feels fear. How long is this going to last? Is she dreaming? She never has before, not exactly, but that would make more sense than her being human.   
  
She needs to find Dean, but she doesn't know where to start.   
  
"Dean," she calls out, voice deep and rich, experimental. She's never spoken before, wasn't sure she even could. "Dean."   
  
Pala doesn't receive an answer, but she isn't surprised. She steps out of the bathroom, heads down the hall and says his name again. Eventually, he'll answer. She's sure of it. 

*

Dean wakes in contradiction. His head aches, and he feels sick to his stomach, but he is also warm and comfortable, has the vague sense of being at Lisa's, surrounded by the feeling of peace that comes from a loved one's presence. He struggles for consciousness, working hard to place himself, trying to figure out why Lisa would be next to him. Reality sets in as he opens his eyes and sees the wall of his bedroom. He's home in the bunker, and he'll never see Lisa or Ben again.   
  
So, why the warmth at his back?  
  
Dean is suddenly awake and completely aware, and he moves out of bed, getting to his feet to grab his pistol. The person in his bed makes a sleepy, feminine sound. At one look, he lowers his weapon immediately. There is a woman, wrapped only in a green blanket, laying atop his bedspread; he's never seen her before, but there's something familiar about her, especially when her eyes go wide.  
  
"Dean," she says calmly, though hesitant. "I'm not going to hurt you."   
  
She looks pointedly at the gun in his hand, but Dean isn't quite ready to put it down just yet.  
  
"Sam!" he calls. "Sam, get in here!"  
  
"Dean," says the woman, sitting up, hands clutching the blanket that covers her. "It's okay."   
  
"How'd you get in here?" he demands of her, angry with himself for getting so drunk that someone managed to sneak into bed without him noticing.  
  
"I… I walked."   
  
"Cute, sweetheart. I meant how'd you get in this bunker?"  
  
"You drove me here. Dean, if you'll give me a minute, I'll explain."   
  
Her responses are so open and unguarded, and she looks so innocent in his bed, long hair messy and wild, that it gives him pause. Dean feels something protective rise up inside of him at the sincerity she speaks with, which is something he doesn't understand since he's staring at an intruder in his home.  
  
Sam finally appears, and Dean looks over at his sleep rumpled brother, watches as he processes what's taking place and then looks at him in disbelief and aggravation.   
  
"Seriously, Dean? You brought a girl back to the bunker?"   
  
"What? Dude, no! She broke in!"   
  
"I _didn't_," she says adamantly from her perch on the bed. "Please, just let me explain. I don't really understand it either, but I promise, I'm not here to hurt either of you. I would never-"   
  
"Explain faster, sweetheart," Dean cuts in, then frowns at the look of hurt that crosses her face.  
  
"Don't call me that. You never call me that."   
  
"I don't call you anything. I don't even know you!"   
  
She sighs. "Yes, you do. Just- I normally don't look like this. Dean...It's me. Baby. _Your_ Baby. I'm the Impala.   
  
Dean just stares. He's no longer sure that he's not in the middle of some drunken hallucination, but this is weird, even for his subconscious. Hell, this is weird, period. Of everything that could have come out of her mouth, this is the last thing he expected.   
  
"I can prove it," she says hurriedly. "But, could you maybe loan me a shirt?"   
  
He takes a moment to step outside of the immediate strangeness of the situation and focuses on the tone of her request. She's embarrassed, whoever she is, naked and in front of two men that are staring at her unapologetically. Dean softens a little at the way she pulls the blanket tighter against herself and drops her face to stare at the sheets. He steps over to his dresser and opens a drawer to grab a tshirt and a pair of shorts. Dean tosses them to her and clears his throat.   
  
"Here," he says. "We'll, uh. We'll wait outside."   
  
"Thank you."   
  
He walks backwards out his room, closes the door behind him and Sam, then looks to his brother, feeling a little desperate in his confusion.   
  
"Dude."   
  
Sam shakes his head. "If she's telling the truth..."   
  
"Of course she's not telling the truth! She can't be the car. The car is a car, and she's a woman!"  
  
His brother shrugs, and Dean narrows his eyes. There's no way Sam can believe the woman in there is really the Impala, but the look his brother is giving him tells a different story.  
  
"Dean, I'm just saying, how is this any stranger than any of the other jobs we've ever worked?"  
  
"Because- Because cars don't turn human, Sam!"   
  
"And ghost aren't real," his brother counters.   
  
"Of course ghosts are real," the woman says, stepping out of Dean's bedroom.   
  
Dean looks over to find her slender frame dwarfed in his clothes, and he thinks she's pretty, even if she is crazy. The woman is tall, with long legs that even his too big shorts can't hide, miles of golden smooth skin on display. Her eyes are the same color as the Impala's steel, her hair just as dark as Baby's paint, but he brushes the comparison away. She's not the Impala. She can't be, because cars don't turn into humans.   
  
She continues, "We've worked plenty of those kinds of cases."  
  
Sam smiles. "Exactly my point."   
  
Dean sighs. 

  
*

  
Pala asks them to lead her to the garage, because she lost her sense of directions searching through the halls for Dean's room. Dean still has his gun in his hand, which makes her uncomfortable, but he holds it loosely, which she takes as a good sign. She knows, though, from years of observing, how fast that can change, and she wants to reassure him as soon as possible that she is who she is. Sam flips the light switch as soon as he opens the door, and she points to what is her spot, which is now empty except for their arsenal and random odds and ends.  
  
"See?" she says. "That's where I should be parked. But I'm not."   
  
She shifts from one foot to another, still not used to how cold the concrete feels. Dean's eyes are narrowed, and he looks from her to the assortment of things on the floor several times before walking across the space to squat down and study the pile of his and Sam's stuff.  
  
"This is all the stuff we keep in the car," he says. "But that doesn't mean she's-"   
  
"There's more," Pala interrupts, determined to prove her identity.   
  
Dean gets to his feet and looks at her expectantly. She doesn't like the sharpness of his eyes, the distrust and aggravation she finds in his gaze. Pala has never had to prove herself to Dean, and somehow she didn't count on having to. She trusts him absolutely: It didn't occur to her that he wouldn't feel the same.   
  
She's had time to look at herself since she changed, walking around in the soft light of the boys' home, stopping each time she discovered evidence of her old self on her new body. Pala holds out her left ankle, gauges Dean's reaction when he sees the tattoo of an army man, little and green, sitting on her skin. His eyes widen, but he still doesn't seem convinced, so she turns around and lifts up the hem of his shirt, showing him the small of her back.   
  
"That's the license plate," says Sam, and she nods at him, smiling at the expression on his face.  
  
"That's a tramp stamp," Dean replies, but his voice is one of wonder, and Pala relaxes marginally.   
  
She pulls the necklace out from under the cotton, jingles the legos. "These are yours," she tells them fondly, smiling at the memory of a much smaller pair of Sam and Dean. "Been with me a long time."   
  
A silence falls between the group. Dean finally looks in her eyes, shock and amazement on his face as he tries to make sense of what he sees. Pala breathes deeply, still getting used to the feel of lungs, of a beating heart instead of a rumbling engine. She isn't sure what Dean is thinking, and she has spent so much time _knowing_ his thoughts and _hearing_ him in her mind that the quiet frightens her. She still knows him well, though, and she can almost see his thoughts in his posture and face, the pieces clicking together as he adds everything up, and he looks convinced, but not particularly happy. He's looking at her like she's a puzzle he needs to solve, like she's one of the cases he's found in the newspaper. Like there's something wrong with her.  
  
She doesn't like that at all.  
  
Sam is the one who speaks first. "You're really the Impala."   
  
She answers the younger brother, but doesn't take her eyes off Dean. "I am. But, you can call me Pala."   
  
"Paula?" asks Sam.   
  
"No, Pala," she replies. "Short for the Impala. You can still call me Baby if you want to."  
  
Dean just shakes his head. Pala knows she's new to the whole human thing, but she thinks she now understands what it means to have a broken heart.   
  



	3. Two

Pala watches as Sam and Dean pull books off the library shelves. Sam makes the effort to talk to her, at least, but Dean stays largely silent, pouring himself into research. She's used to his conversation, but now that she can actually answer him, he has nothing to say. It hurts her in ways that are entirely new.   
  
But- It's Dean who goes to the store to buy her clothes of her own, handing her several bags upon his return without a word. He nods when she thanks him, and she considers this to be a positive thing.   
  
The bags contain a few basics: A few pairs of stretchy pants, a sports bra, a couple shirts, a pack of cotton underwear, and some slip on shoes. Just enough to get her through less than a week, and she knows he's not counting on her staying for long. What she can't figure out is why her presence bothers Dean so greatly. Pala wishes she could still hear his thoughts.   
  
Shyly, she asks Sam if she can take a shower. As a car, Dean had always kept her clean, but it's been a little over a week since the last time he's washed her, and she feels like there's a layer of dirt and grime on her. She wants to get that off before she puts on new clothes. Sam shows her to a bathroom, explains how the shower operates, then rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.   
  
"Um, do you need- I mean, you know how to-"   
  
Pala smiles. "I think I can figure everything out. Thanks, Sam."   
  
"Yeah, sure. No problem, Pala." He smiles back, clearly relieved, and she's pleased at his use of her chosen name. Opening a cabinet, he pulls out a couple of towels. "Here. Yell if you need anything."  She nods, and the door closes behind him a moment later.   
There's more to being human than she imagined, and it's a little overwhelming, having to learn things the boys have known since they were two. But, Pala manages to use the toilet without incident, then gets undressed and turns on the shower, flinching at first when the water runs too hot over her hand, then smiling to herself when she manages to get the temperature right. It's a little silly, to be smiling so much, especially when Dean won't speak to her, but she's genuinely happy to be human. She's been curious about it for so long.   
  
Pala is careful when she steps behind the shower curtain and under the spray. She's still a little unsteady on her feet, not completely used to how her body moves and fits together, but she's getting a little more comfortable. The water feels good on her skin, and she stands beneath it, lifting her face up to it, turning different ways, letting each part of her feel the warmth slide over her, breathing in the steam. She reaches for the soap, giggles at how slick it between her fingers, sitting down to wash her body, not completely trusting her legs to hold her up. She replaces the soap on the ledge, then gets to her feet and grabs the shampoo, reading the label to figure out exactly what to do.  
  
Finally, she finishes, turns off the water, and pulls the shower curtain open. She steps onto the tile floor with one cautious foot, but when she lifts her other, she misjudges the height of the tub and knocks into it, losing her balance and tumbling over. She lands with a cry, her knees banging hard onto the floor, her head crashing into the corner of the sink. Tears spring to her eyes, and she reaches up with one hand, pressing against the tender spot on her forehead.   
  
The door opens less than a minute later, and she doesn't look up before she speaks, keeps her face downcast to hide her tears.   
  
"I'm sorry, Sam," Pala says. "I- I fell, and I- I hit my head."   
  
"You don't need to apologize."   
  
It's not Sam who speaks, though. It's Dean.   
  
Now, she's _really_ embarrassed, and the tears fall faster, which she doesn't understand or like. She _does_ like the way it feels when he kneels next to her, wraps his flannel shirt around her shoulders, and helps her to her feet. Dean brushes the hair out of her face, but doesn't try to lift her chin or look in her eyes, just runs his fingers over the painful knot. Pala holds his shirt closed with her hands, not bothering to slide her arms into it, certain he'll want it back in a few moments. She glances up, risks trying to lock gazes with him, and he looks back at her carefully, green staring into steel.   
  
For the first time, he doesn't look away.   
  
"Are you alright?" he asks, gruff but kind.   
  
She doesn't know how to answer that. The tears have mostly stopped, but her head still hurts and so do her knees.   
  
"I think so."   
  
He considers this. "Maybe we should take you to a doctor."   
  
"Because I bumped my head?" Pala frowns. "You and Sam have both had worse and stayed away from the hospital."   
  
"I didn't mean a hospital. I meant a regular doctor. Just to see if- You know, you're...normal. If you're really human."   
  
"Oh." She pauses, looks away. "You mean to find out if I'm some kind of freak. If there's a tiny engine where a heart should be."   
  
Pala hadn't ever thought being a human could be so...painful.   
  
"That's not what I meant." Dean sighs. "I just- Look, get dressed. I think your head is fine. Be careful, though- The floor's slippery."   
  
"Your shirt..."   
  
Dean pauses, hand on the doorknob, then says, "Keep it."  
  
She smiles at him, but he's already walking away and doesn't see. Her heart swells in her chest, and Pala can't help but be amazed by all the things she can feel and how quickly she feels them, one after another. 

  
*

  
Dean has always thought of the Impala as solid.   
  
The car has been the one unchanging thing in his ever-changing life. New scenery, new faces, new monsters, new schools. Nothing in his world has ever stood the test of time, except his love for his family and his car. It has been his shelter frequently, even after the move to the bunker he'd slip down to the garage to sit behind the wheel, just like he had last night.  
  
Now, Baby is human, and he feels like the entire world has changed.   
  
That car knows things about him that even Sam doesn't, and he isn't sure how much she remembers, and he feels exposed around her. And strange, because he's attracted to her.   
  
Suddenly, all of Sam's jokes about his unhealthy relationship with Baby make him deeply uncomfortable.   
He's avoided her for the last eight hours, ever since he woke up with her in his bed, but the need to take care of her is still present. Which is why it was an instant decision to borrow one of the cars in the garage and drive to the store to buy her clothes to wear, even if he had wondered the entire time if this one had a mind of its own as well.   
  
When he heard her fall as he walked past the bathroom, Dean immediately and without thinking walked in. She had looked so small and scared, so hurt when she thought he was suggesting she was a freak.   
  
She is no longer steel, but flesh and bone. She's breakable. Baby has feelings; they show on her face, no carefully maintained mask like he's perfected. Her vulnerability makes him protective, but he is treading water in an ocean of strange, and he is in way over his head.   
  
Pala- She's given herself a name, and he finds some pride in that. Dean always knew the car was special, just never fully understood how right he was.   
  
Dean sits at one of the tables in the library, reading yet another useless book with no information on gorgeous cars turning into gorgeous women.   
  
"Can I help?"  
  
He looks up to find Pala standing on the opposite side, wearing his button-up over one of her new tshirts, staring at the books scattered across the table's surface.   
  
"If you want- But, I mean, can you..."   
  
"Read? Yes, I can read. I learned when you taught Sam."   
  
Dean gapes at her, and Pala smiles gently.   
  
"You- How did you-"   
  
She sits down, pulls a book toward her. "It's hard to explain. I don't- or, I didn't- see the way I do now. My windows, mirrors, headlights all functioned as eyes. My first memory is of your mother checking her makeup in the visor."   
  
Dean swallows. Mom.   
  
"You knew Mom," he says.   
  
"I did. Not well, because I was just starting to really understand things when Sam was born, and then... I missed her."   
  
"Do you..." Dean shakes his head. He's not willing to do this. He doesn't talk about Mom.   
  
"She sang when she drove," Pala offers.  
  
Dean nods, then clears his throat. "Not sure you'll find anything useful in that one."   
  
"Oh. Well, is there another-"   
  
"Not really. We weren't sure where to start, so we're just going over everything about magical objects."   
  
"Okay."   
  
Her voice is agreeable, and the quiet between them isn't uncomfortable. In fact, this feels almost normal. He isn't sure how much time passes as he reads through the book in front of him, looking for any explanation for the woman sitting in front of him and finding none, but he relaxes into the research until he hears a soft whimper.   
  
"What's wrong?" asks Dean, looking up to find her rubbing her stomach, face pinched in discomfort.   
  
"My stomach hurts."   
  
He thinks maybe he should have insisted on a trip to the doctor, but then realizes this might be something more mundane.   
  
"Are you hungry?"   
  
"Am I... I don't know. I've never..." Pala thinks for a second. "You're pretty good about keeping gas in my tank, but that's not really the same, is it?"   
  
Dean can't help but chuckle a little at the comparison. "It's not far off."   
  
"Then maybe I am hungry."   
  
He nods. He could eat too, now that he thinks about it. Breakfast had been completely forgotten, and it's past lunch. Getting to his feet, he gestures to her to follow him and walks into the kitchen, easily putting together the things to make a couple of sandwiches, calling out to Sam as he does. He isn't sure what Pala would even _want_ to eat, but he puts together a ham and cheese sandwich, not bothering with any condiments, and puts it in front of her.   
  
"Thank you, Dean," she says.   
  
Dean doesn't respond, just returns to the counter to make Sam's meal and then his own. When he bites into his sandwich, he looks over to see her watching him, her own lunch half-eaten on her plate.  
  
"Do you not like it?" he asks around a mouthful of food, then swallows. "I can make you something different."   
  
"It's not that. The sandwich is good. It's just- I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't think you'd be so unhappy to have me... like this."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You'll barely look at me or talk to me, and I'm sorry- I never wanted to... You were just so... _sad_, last night, and I wanted to comfort you. To answer you. I just wanted to take care of you- You've always taken care of me."   
  
Her little speech catches him off-guard. Dean has no idea what to respond to first. He's prepared for nothing that she just said, and he can't decide which part overwhelms him the most. How bad he feels that he upset her. The Impala being a woman named Pala that felt gratitude for him maintaining her. That she wanted to comfort him.   
  
The she _wanted,_ period.   
  
"You wanted to be human?" Dean asks finally.   
  
She nods. "I did."   
  
He looks at her, _really_ looks at her, and sees that her simple answer is only the beginning of a much longer thought that she's keeping to herself. The sadness in her face is impossible to miss, and it brings Dean remorse. He's been ignoring her for the most part, treating the entire situation like a problem to fix instead of looking at her as a person.   
  
"I'm sorry," he says. "I just don't know how to handle any of this."   
  
"I don't either."   
  
"I'm not- I'm not mad at you."   
  
And he's not- He's not even mad at the situation. He is simply unprepared for all the emotional ramifications of something he truly loves coming to life in front of him. Dean Winchester doesn't do feelings.   
"That's good to know. It's so frustrating...Not knowing what you're thinking."   
  
He nods, then stops. "You..."   
  
"As a car, I could hear your thoughts. I knew what you were thinking and how you felt. Now, though... I have no idea. It bothers me, because I wish I knew why you don't want to be around me."   
Sam walks into the kitchen, and Dean turns his attention briefly to his brother, then back to Pala.  
  
"I didn't find anything online," says Sam. "But it was worth a shot."   
  
"We've been ignoring the most important part," Dean replies. "Her. Pala. She wanted this."   
  
"You wanted to be human? But, how did that change you?"  
  
"I don't know."   
  
Dean listens to the simple exchange and realizes with sudden clarity how he's managed to upset her. Sam addresses her like she's a person. Dean's still talking about her like she's a car, but for now, she's the woman who knows him best.   
  
It's a weird epiphany to have, but it makes sense.   
  
Dean picks up his plate, drops his sandwich on it, and walks to the table to seat himself beside her. She looks at him, surprised, but obviously happy, and he smiles at her.   
  
"How about we stop working long enough to eat?" he suggests, and her eyes light up.   
  
"I have stories," says Pala. "About your parents. If you want to hear them."   
  
"You know what," says Dean, "I think that'd be awesome."  
  
Her smile is bright, and as she tells them about Mom and Dad, Sam hanging on her every word, Dean knows he’s been looking at this all wrong. What’s going on can’t be explained, but maybe it doesn’t need to be. Not yet, anyway, He always treated the Impala like family, and now that she has a voice and can sit beside him, that shouldn’t change. She’s definitely earned the right to be treated like a Winchester; she’s not a stranger to any of them.   
  
_Family don’t end with blood, boy_. That’s what Bobby told him. And Dean smiles a little as he thinks,   
  
_It doesn’t end with oil either._


	4. Three

It's been a week, and Dean is trying. He talks to Pala like he would any other person they were trying to help, jokes with her a little, and tries to be considerate. But it's hard to be around her, especially since she's _not_ just any person: She's _Baby_. Knowing that she has been able to read his mind for who knows how many years makes him feel vulnerable.   
  
She's still his Baby, and that's more apparent each day. There's the obvious physical aspect- The dark hair, the strangely steel colored eyes. She's tall, just like the car was long, but solid, wide hips and strong legs, with curves that he has to physically restrain himself not to reach out and touch. She's beautiful, and Dean would be a liar if he said he wasn't attracted to her. More than that, he feels connected to Pala, and he can't figure out what to make of that.   
  
Sam's the only one with a theory, but he's not accepting help in his research, says it doesn't make enough sense to be able to explain it. This leaves Dean with too much time on his hands, a lot of it that he ends up spending with Pala, though he tries to limit how much they're together. There's something about the way she looks at him that he can't place, and he can't handle the way he has feelings for her that no man should have for his car.   
  
_(she'll turn back eventually, and why should I- dammit!)_  
  
Pala has been human for eight days when she walks into the kitchen, opens the fridge, and places a fresh beer next to Dean's empty one without a word. He looks up, surprised, and finds a concerned look on her face.   
  
"You wanted another one, didn't you?"   
  
Dean nods. "I did. How did you know?"   
  
Pala smiles. "You always do. But mostly because of the way you're sitting- You were getting ready to get up and get one." She shrugs, the smile leaving her face and replaced with something far more shy. "Was I wrong?"   
  
He shakes his head. "No. You weren't. Thanks, Pala."   
  
"You're welcome, Dean. Can I sit with you?"   
  
"Sure."   
  
She sits across from him, reaches into the fruit bowl that Sam keeps on the table and takes an orange. She keeps her eyes downcast as she peels it, and Dean watches the woman in front of him. How well she knows him is both endearing and overwhelming, but what really bothers him is that he knew the Impala inside and out. Pala, though- He knows almost nothing, and he isn't even sure how to go about asking her anything.   
  
Dean knows Sam thinks he's completely ignorant when it comes to women, but there's a reason Dean gets so many girls to come home with him. He can read their bodies and faces as easily as he can tell what's wrong with a car...With the Impala. He always knew what needed maintenance just by listening to her.   
  
Maybe it doesn't have to be so different now, considers Dean. It isn't like he has to uncover her deepest secrets in conversation, just make sure she's comfortable, and as he looks at her, her gaze still locked on the fruit in her hands, it's obvious she's not.   
  
"Pala?" Dean ventures. "Everything alright?"   
  
She glances up, bites her bottom lip, and Dean swallows hard.   
  
"It's fine. I just..." She pauses. "I don't want to sound ungrateful, but I'd like some more clothes. I know I don't really need any, since I don't go anywhere or anything, but... I mean. I'm sorry. I just did laundry, Sam helped me. I don't-"   
  
"It's okay." Dean interrupts her, because he can't stand to listen to any woman sound so insecure, much less Pala. "We can do that. Need to make a supply run, and Walmart has a clothing section too."   
  
"Are you sure?"   
  
"I'm sure. I just grabbed that crap because it was gonna fit. Can you be ready to go in ten minutes? I'll let Sam know where we're headed, get the keys to one of the cars in the garage."  
  
"Sure." She smiles at him, her entire face lighting up, and Dean feels guilty for keeping her locked up in the bunker this whole time. "Thank you, Dean."   
  
"No problem," he says and heads towards the library, where he knows Sammy will be.   
  
Not today, because they'll have groceries to put up, but Dean decides he should take Pala out before she turns back. She's spent her entire life taking him to bars- It's time he return the favor. 

  
*

  
The ride to the store is quiet, so Dean turns the radio up, finding a classic rock station with ease. Stopped at a red light, he turns his head to look at Pala and finds her singing along. He doesn't comment on it, just grins widely and joins in.   
  
Dean isn't one to help a girl go shopping, but there's no way he's leaving Pala by herself, so he walks through the women's section with her, pays attention to the frown on her face, and after about ten minutes, he stops her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.   
  
"What's wrong?"   
  
"I... I don't know what size," she says.   
  
"Oh. Well." Dean rubs the back of his neck. "Crap."  
  
He has no frame of reference for this, but she looks so sad, that he can't just let her shopping trip derail this quickly. So, he smiles at her and gestures to the clothes in front of them.   
  
"See anything you want?"   
  
She nods.   
  
"Okay, then we'll just grab one in every size."   
  
"That's going to take forever."   
  
"And?" encourages Dean. "I don't mind. We're in no hurry, unless you're just desperate to get back and watch Sam mumble under his breath."   
  
Pala giggles, and Dean likes the sound.   
  
"Come on. It'll be okay."   
  
The look on the dressing room attendant's face isn't a happy one, but she doesn't say anything when she sees Dean's protective stance. 

  
*

  
An hour later, Dean hasn't seen a single thing she's tried on, and there isn't nearly as much in the cart as he expected, but he shrugs it off because Pala looks pleased, and that's enough for him. He's in no hurry to get back to the bunker.   
  
When they hit the snack aisle, Pala starts putting things in the basket. At first, he isn't paying attention- He's looking for the crackers Sam likes that the store seems to continuously move, but when she puts in a bag of chips, he stops and looks at everything she's assembled. It's his favorite junk food.  
  
"You like all this?" he asks.   
  
She smiles. "I don't really know what I like, other than what you've made this last week. This is what you like, right?"   
  
"Yeah," says Dean. "How do you..."   
  
_Know. Remember. Why do you care?_  
  
"I've had plenty of time." She points. "There are the crackers you're looking for."   
  
Sure enough, Dean follows her finger and there they are. He grabs two boxes and tosses them in with everything else, then grabs the handles and pushes the cart forward a few steps. Her answer makes him think about all she must have seen, and he feels his face heat up. Clearing his throat, Dean drops his gaze to his knuckles.   
  
"There, uh, anything you want?"   
  
"I wouldn't know. You're a good cook, though, so I'm sure whatever you want will be fine."  
  
"Thanks, but...There anything you want to try?"   
  
She stops, and Dean does a beat later. He looks over at her, can't help the smile when he sees how hard she's thinking. It's cute.   
  
"Mac and cheese?" she asks hesitantly. "Sam really liked it when he was a kid, and I was always curious about it."   
  
"Sure. That's easy. No problem. And don't thank me- It's no big deal."   
  
She smiles back at him, and he has the urge to reach out to her, pull her closer to him, but he clamps down on his feelings and starts walking once more. 

  
*

  
A few days go by without incident, except that Dean is trying hard to not comment on Pala's new clothes. She looked great in sweats and oversized tshirts- In tight jeans and tops, it's impossible to ignore how beautiful she is and how attracted to her he is. Added to that is how she's becoming more of a person to him, and he has to actively remind himself that she's really a car, so making his attraction known would be too much like taking advantage.   
  
She probably wouldn't want him anyway, not after seeing firsthand the parade of girls he's been with.   
  
Pala likes to read, something Dean would have never believed if he hadn't seen her in almost every room with her eyes staring intently at one book or another. Her focus amazes him, so Dean tries to bring her fresh coffee when he notices her cup is empty. Each time he does it, she looks up at him with such a happy expression that Dean doesn't know what to do, so he just nods at her and walks away quickly.   
  
Twelve days after Pala turns human, Dean heads into the kitchen because it smells amazing, and he can't imagine what possessed Sam to cook.   
  
But, it's Pala he finds leaning against the kitchen counter.   
  
"Hey."   
  
"Hi," she replies. "I'm baking a pie."   
  
"You know how to cook?"   
  
"I know how to read. Sam helped a lot."   
  
Dean frowns in surprise. "You got Sam away from his research? And he volunteered to help you make pie?"   
  
"Sam's very nice," says Pala. "I asked him, because I don't know how any of this stuff works, but I know you like apple pie. He said when the timer goes off to take it out of the oven, and I told him I could handle that on my own, so he went to take a nap."   
  
"You made me pie?"   
  
"Sam and I did."   
  
"But it was your idea."  
  
"Yes."   
  
Dean stares openly for a second, but then crosses the few feet between them and pulls her into a hug, crushing her against his chest before he can think better of it. One arm is wrapped securely around her waist, the other across her shoulders, and he tucks her head under his chin, relieved when he feels her arms wrap just as tightly around his middle and her body sink against him.   
  
"Thank you," he tells her, wishing like all hell that he knew exactly why this small thing has stirred up such a sense of emotion within him. Sam does things for him all the time, but this- Somehow this is different. "You didn't have to do this."   
  
"I wanted to," Pala replies, pulling back just a little so she can look up at him.   
  
He searches her face for a few long moments, thinks again how beautiful she is, before he pulls her to him again. She tightens her hold on him, nestles a little into his chest, sighs softly.   
  
"What is it?" he asks, worried that he shouldn't be holding her like this, but with the way she has her arms wrapped around him, he thinks it might be something else.   
  
"I just...I wish I knew what you were thinking. Like I used to. I always knew what you wanted, and now, I have to guess at it. It's...lonely."  
  
Dean doesn't have a response to that , so he just holds her, and they stand there, silently, for long moments, until the timer beeps. Pala slips out of his embrace and opens the oven door, reaching in before Dean stops her with an urgent, "Hey, wait!"   
She looks up at him, face innocent, and he pushes her to the side gently, then grabs a potholder.  
  
"You use one of these when you get something out of there, or you'll hurt yourself. Okay?"   
  
Dean places the pie on the cooling rack and drops the potholder carelessly onto the counter. When he looks back at her, she's nodding, eyes filling with tears, which alarms him.   
  
"Hey, hey. Why are you-"   
  
"I thought I could be human." Her voice shakes. "But, there's _so much_ to it that I don't know, and you- This is the most you've spoken to me in two weeks. I _miss_ you, Dean. I don't know what you're thinking, and you seem so- I don't know, and it...I just...don't know."   
  
Dean thinks back and realizes she's right. He's been polite, but he's kept his distance. He hadn't realized that by doing that he'd been hurting her. Instantly, guilt crashes down on him.  
  
"I'm...I'm sorry, Pala. Come here?"   
  
He opens his arms to her, and she steps into them, lets him wrap her in a hug once again.   
  
"I've been a dick," he says with sudden and complete realization. "Don't cry. I haven't been thinking about how hard this has been on you. Your entire life has changed, and I should have...I'm sorry, okay?"  
  
"I didn't want you to apologize," she says, voice muffled by his chest.   
  
Dean laughs. "Well, I didn't know that. Because, Pala- I can't read your mind either. So, you've got to talk to me when I'm being a jerk. I'm not gonna know any other way."   
  
She giggles a little, then shifts back on her heels, slides both of her hands up to his shoulders. Her amusement turns to something far more serious.   
  
"I want to try something."   
  
And then, she lifts up on her toes, and kisses him. Her mouth presses firmly to Dean's, soft and warm, and he curls a hand around the nape of her neck, captures her bottom lip between both of his, splaying his fingers against the small of her back.   
  
She pulls away far sooner than he wants her to, but he doesn't try for a second kiss, just lets her step out his arms.   
  
"Pala," he begins, but she shakes her head.   
  
It looks like she wants to say something, but she just shakes her head again and leaves the room. Dean leans against the kitchen counter and runs a hand over his face. He can't pretend anymore that he doesn't have feelings for her, and he doesn't know where this leaves them.  
  
He understands now why Baby wishes she could read his mind. 

  
*

  
Pala feels like she's in a bit of a daze.   
  
She closes her bedroom door behind her and turns off the light, fully intending to go to sleep for a while, because she's learned that when she can't process something, she often feels better after drifting off. But, after she slides between her sheets, Pala can't quiet her mind.   
  
She's wanted to kiss Dean for days. For years, she's wondered what it would feel like, and now that she has...  
  
Her entire body feels so different than it has the rest of the time she's been human. There is a slightly pleasant, slightly uncomfortable ache between her thighs, a warm tightening that she's never felt before. She reaches down, presses two fingers against that warmth, and moans a little. It feels good, relieves a bit of the pressure she feels, so she pushes harder, moves her hips up, and as her fingers shift down, the good feeling increases.   
  
She remembers watching Dean do this to a few girls when he was still in high school, slipping his hand inside their pants, the girl panting and squirming until she'd finally slump against him, face covered in a thin sheen of sweat.   
  
Pala slides her fingers beneath her panties, slipping between slick folds, and she knows this means something, the wetness, because of what she's heard Dean say. She rubs herself where the pressure is greatest, moaning again, moving her fingers up and down, trying to find a rhythm. It feels so good, and she moves her hips a little as she touches herself, sliding her other hand under her bra to squeeze her breast, strumming her thumb over a hard nipple, then the other, and now, _oh_, that feels even better, touching both these places at once.   
  
The pleasure is growing, and Pala isn't sure what it's building towards. It's intense, this feeling, and her motions become frantic, desperate to reach a crescendo, because each second that passes tenses her muscles more, and _this feels so good, oh, oh, this feels_-  
  
And then she breaks over the edge, her whole body shaking as she gasps, bucking onto her fingers, the feeling lingering for long moments before she finally stills, trembling a little as she works to steady her breathing.   
  
She rolls onto her side, feels herself begin to fall asleep, and imagines what it would feel like if it had been Dean's hand instead of her own. 

  
*

  
"Hey, Dean, you got a minute?"  
  
"It speaks!"   
  
Sam rolls his eyes and gestures to the chair across from him. "Just sit. I think...I think I maybe figured out what's going on."   
  
"Spell?" asks Dean, snapping into business mode, sitting down.   
  
"Weirder than that. I started looking into sentience- Which is the ability to think. More specifically, I started looking into sentient objects. And it's not unheard of. There's lore on it."   
  
"There's lore on talking cars?"   
  
"Not exactly. Nothing's ever talked. But, swords that could predict what the wielder wanted, a shield that moved a knight's arm to block a blow he didn't see. That."   
  
"The car's not a weapon."   
  
"I know, but we've brought the Impala into battle more than once. The car holds the arsenal, it's been our office more than once. Shit, it's been...Home, for most of our lives. But, it's you, really, that makes the difference."   
  
"Me? Why me?"   
  
"If you'd actually talk to her instead of treating her like she's still-"   
  
"Just...quit. I've been a dick." Dean sighs. "I'm working on it. Okay? Could you just-"   
  
"Yeah, okay," says Sam. "Pala says the first feeling she had was for you- The day you were born. She cared about you the second she saw you."   
  
"That's... Wow."   
  
"Wow is right. Dean, she... She _loves_ you, man. And you love her. Maybe not Pala. But the car. You really love that car. You talk to her, take care of her like she's a person. She noticed. She started to 'wake up' for Dad, but you- You made her a person. And she wanted to be human because she wanted to comfort you." Sam pauses.   
  
"Why does any of this matter? What does my relationship with the- With Pala, have to do with anything?"   
  
"Because, Dean...I think she turned herself human. No spells, just her." Sam pauses again, shakes his head. "I, uh, I did some other research. After talking to Pala about how she feels for you. I already knew how weird your relationship with the car was, so...I just sort of...I think you guys are...connected. On a... I think you're as close to soul mates as it gets."   
  
Dean blinks.   
  
_the way she felt in his arms, fitting perfectly; how her lips had been so warm and soft under his_  
  
"Don't use that word, Sammy."   
  
Sam shakes his head. "Sorry, man. I could call it something different, but- I think that's why she turned. You put so much of yourself into her, that you just sort of...You know what they say about love."   
  
"This isn't Harry Potter, dude! Love doesn't just. Just. I mean. Fuck!"   
  
Sam relaxes back into his chair and crosses his arms over his chest.   
  
"Dean, we deal in death and blood and evil every day of our lives. Isn't it nice to, just this once, have something weird happen not because of something bad, but because of something good?"   
  
Dean looks at his brother, shakes his head, but doesn't object any further. "So, you think it's permanent, then?"   
  
"Yeah. She's not a car anymore."   
  
_the smell of apple pie_


	5. Four

They haven't talked about the kiss.  
  
Pala spends the next four days reliving it: The taste of his mouth, the way his lips felt against hers, how he wrapped his arms around her like she was any other girl and pulled her closer. The way the heat from his body settled into her own and brought need to the surface of her skin, created an ache between her thighs.  
  
She hasn't tried to do it again, because she isn't sure how Dean feels about it. He's stopped avoiding her only for her to avoid him. Sam gives her an empty notebook, and she fills the pages with careful writing, grateful that this isn't something she has to learn. She watched the boys learn to hold crayons and make words out of letters, and just like she knows how to read from watching, she knows how to write.  
  
Pala likes writing, finds that she can organize her thoughts and have something tangible to show for it. Dean sits across from her when she works at the table, usually with his laptop in front of him. She knows he's looking for a case. His green eyes are serious and focused, brow furrowed as he stares at the screen. Eventually, he starts scribbling down notes, and that's when Pala puts down her pen and looks up at him.  
  
"Did you find something?" she asks.  
  
"Case down in Alabama, but it's one of those yearly things. We've got some time before we need to head down there. I'm gonna show this to Sam, see what he thinks."  
  
"What do you think?"  
  
"I think it's a vengeful spirit, but I could be wrong."  
  
"Can I see?"  
  
"Yeah, sure," says Dean, then turns the computer around so Pala can see what he's been looking at.  
  
She reads the articles that caught Dean's attention, processes the information, and finds she doesn't agree with his assessment.  
  
"I think you're wrong," she says softly.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I think it's something John hunted once, back when you boys were little. Only that one was in Virginia. I can't remember what it's called, but it has feeding cycles like this one does. It sleeps most of the year, only awake for something like two months. Feeds on humans and animals alike, but the animals don't make the papers."  
  
Dean's quiet, and Pala thinks she might have made him angry, but his eyes aren't hard. Instead, they're curious.  
  
"You happen to get a glimpse of it?"  
  
"I did. Two legs, stands kind of hunched over. Long...hair, I guess, but it's nasty and dark. No eyes, no nose, just a mouth. Long claws."  
  
"I've never read about it in Dad's journal."  
  
Pala shrugs. "Maybe I'm wrong."  
  
"We'll look into both," says Dean, and he smiles at her. "Always knew you weren't just a car."  
  
She smiles back, feels heat rush to her face. Then, she realizes that her boys will be leaving on a hunt soon.  
  
"I, um...I guess I'm sitting this one out, huh?"  
  
Dean looks at her in confusion for a second, before he understands what she's asking. "Oh. Yeah, I guess so. We can get someone else to do it, if you don't want to be here by yourself."  
  
"I'm by myself anyway," she says without thinking, regretting it immediately when she sees the flash of pain on Dean's face.  
  
"Pala, I'm..." He sighs. "Have you talked to Sam?"  
  
"You mean about his theory? Yes. He thinks I'm going to stay human."  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
Dean pauses, and she wants to reach out, lay her hand on his, because he looks so lost. She wants to tell him it's okay that he doesn't have feelings for her. As it is, she has enough for the both of them.  
  
"You want to go out tonight?"  
  
"What?" she asks, not expecting the invitation. "You mean, like, to a bar?"  
  
"Sure. Or to a movie. I think the last time I saw a movie was... I don't even remember when. We should celebrate. You being human."  
  
Pala turns that over in her mind for long moments.  
  
"You want to celebrate me being human?"  
  
Dean nods. She can't quite believe what she's hearing, and she doesn't have the words to describe how it makes her feel that Dean wants to take her out, is...glad?...that she's human.  
  
"Then...Yes, I think I'd like to go to a movie. No chick flicks, right?"  
  
He laughs, gets to his feet and grabs hold of his notes. "I'll make an exception just this once."

  
*

  
They end up getting tickets for the latest romantic comedy. Dean buys a bucket of popcorn and three different kinds of candy, because if he has to sit through two hours of googly eyes, he's going to be well fed at the end of it. He gets two cokes, and Pala wrinkles her nose at the carbonation when she takes her first sip. Looking at her questioningly, Dean wonders if he needs to buy her something different to drink- He and Sam mostly keep beer and liquor at the bunker, along with some orange juice and milk. But, then she smiles, and he figures everything's alright even as he makes a mental note to buy soda on the next store run.  
  
The theater is pretty populated, but they manage to find two seats about halfway up in the center section, and Dean lets her walk ahead of him, tries not to stare at the view her jeans give him. Her tshirt has ridden up a little in the back, just enough that he can see the middle of her license-plate-turned-tattoo, and he forces his eyes upward, because the sight is equal parts endearing and sexy, brings up feelings he isn't ready to deal with, especially with the memory of their kiss still fresh in his mind.  
  
He hasn't brought it up to her, because he isn't sure how she feels about it. For his own part, Dean is starting to accept that she's a woman and no longer his car, but with that acceptance comes the fact that he still cares about her as much as he ever did, only now that care means something much different than it did.  
  
She reaches up and takes his soda from him, then the bucket of popcorn, which makes it easier to maneuver himself into the seat next to her. She hands both back, and Dean settles the bucket in his lap and his drink in the cup holder, props his elbow on the armrest and promptly bumps into hers.  
  
"Sorry," she says, shifting her arm into her lap.  
  
He shakes his head and repositions himself. "It's all yours," Dean tells hers. "Really." Then, he smiles at her in reassurance, and the smile he gets in return is worth the awkward angle his arm is bent at.  
  
The previews manage to hold his attention, but fifteen minutes into the actual movie, Dean's mind begins to wander. These movies are pretty much all the same: Boy meets girl, girl and boy try to ignore feelings, girl and boy have sex, girl and boy break up, girl and boy get together in the end. There's little variation, and he manages to follow the plot with barely any focus.  
  
Pala, on the other hand, is watching with rapt attention, and Dean keeps glancing over at her, especially to watch her laugh. She's beautiful in the glow of the screen, eyes lit up with a childlike sense of excitement. It's because of her that Dean pays any attention to the movie at all. This kind of lifestyle is hard for him to imagine, where something so trivial could come between two people who really cared for each other. He's spent too much time up to his neck in death- If he ever really loved someone...  
That thought stops him cold, because it reminds him of Lisa, of what he did when he really loved someone.  
  
Pala bumps his shoulder, and Dean looks over at her, leans in close.  
  
She whispers in his ear, "You did what you had to do for her and Ben. It doesn't make you a bad person."  
  
"How do you-"  
  
"That's the look you get when you think about them." She pauses. "Do you want the arm rest? Your elbow is probably asleep by now."  
  
She moves her own without waiting for him to reply, and Dean repositions, instant relief flooding his limb.  
  
He whispers, "I think there's enough room to share if we work at it."  
  
She smiles at him, and her arm presses against the length of his, warm and soft, the back of her hand brushing against his knuckles. Dean's been on plenty of dates, but it's been a good long while since he took a woman to a movie, and he is woefully unprepared for how the innocence of the situation affects him. He can't decide what he wants more: To stay like this, with a casual touch of skin, or bring them closer. If Pala were any other woman, he'd have wrapped his arm around her shoulders as soon as the lights went down.  
  
As he tentatively slips his fingers between hers and feels relief flood him when she doesn't pull away, Dean admits to himself that she's special, and not just because of the obvious reasons. 

  
*

  
It comes in pieces, a jumbled mess of two realities. A nightmare and a dream.  
  
All three Winchester men with her again, Dean broken and bleeding in the backseat.  
  
Her in the passenger seat, both Dean's hands on the wheel as he asks, "Did you enjoy the movie?"  
  
Her tires spinning on the asphalt, Sam pushing her engine to go faster, and she obliges, wants her family out of danger.  
  
"I did. But I don't think you can say the same."  
  
Headlights showing empty road, tail lights finding nothing, window panes anxiously watching as Dean takes heavy pained breaths.  
  
"What matters is you did." Dean's smile in darkness.  
  
Crash. Glass, metal, and she is helpless, she can do nothing for them but watch them bleed with fractured vision.  
  
"Maybe next time we can see something you don't hate."  
  
She begs them silently to keep breathing. When the paramedics take Dean away, she wishes she could go with him.  
  
"Guess I'm not too bad of a date if you want there to be a next time," he jokes. She wonders if that's what a date feels like, misses his fingers wrapped around hers.  
  
Hours in a junkyard, useless and every part of her mangled. It doesn't hurt, not exactly, but she doesn't know how her family is, wants to know if Dean is alright. If he's coming back for her. He doesn't have to- It would be enough just to know his heart is still beating.  
  
"I..." Pala doesn't know how to answer, but she makes herself be brave, lays a hand on his elbow, and he lets his arm drop from the wheel of a borrowed car to curl his fingers around her palm.   
  
Is his heart still beating? Is Dean still alive?  
  
Crash. Glass. Metal. A broken family.  
  
"...bad of a date if you want there to be a next time."  
  
Blood. Is his heart still beating?  
  
"I did. But I don't think you can say the same."  
  
Heavy, pained breaths. John saying over them, "More important than anything."  
  
"Did you enjoy the movie?"  
  
Shattered. Blood coating her insides. Is Dean still alive?  
  
"...next time."  
  
Is he alive? Is he dead?  
  
"...next time."  
  
Crash. Glass. Metal. Helpless. Helplesshelplesshelpless.  
  
"...next time."  
  
Glass. Just a car.  
  
"...bad...date."  
  
Just a car.  
  
"...next time."  
  
Crash. Pain. Shattered bone, ripped skin, shards blinding her eyes. Blood, her own this time, covering each part of her. So much blood. Sharp, hot, twisting, broken. Her body is awash with exquisite agony. She breathes glass.  
  
Pala screams. 

  
*

  
Dean sits at the table, surrounded by loose paper, spirals, and several books. Both Sam and Pala have gone to bed, and he enjoys the rare moment of privacy. He's picking up where his brother left off, researching both possible causes for a vengeful spirit and the creature Pala thinks it might be. Sam's made pretty good headway, and Dean's hoping that they'll be able to head to the next case knowing exactly what they're getting into for once.  
  
He reminds himself that they'll have to find new transportation- None of the cars in the bunker are ready for long distance trips. He's tinkered with a few of them in his down time, and that's how they've been getting around the past few weeks, since Pala appeared in his room, but he's not comfortable taking any of them further than Lebanon. That's a problem for tomorrow, though, because right now, he just wants to sift through some of the possibilities before he worries about the details.  
  
Shuffling around a few things, Dean's eyes land on handwriting that belongs to neither him nor Sam. This must be Pala's- Narrow and neat, but still similar to both brothers. Before he thinks, he starts reading. It's dated from a week ago, and by the time he realizes how personal it is, Dean can't stop.  
  
_I know who I am, but not what I am. Am I a woman? Am I still the Impala? I wanted to be human, and now I have everything that makes me one... But am I really? There's still so much I don't understand._  
  
_Sam is my friend, I think. He likes the stories I tell him, and I like the way he talks to me like a person. I wanted so badly to be able to talk to them. At least I have half of what I want._  
  
_Dean, though- He talks to me, and he's kind, polite... But it's like I'm his aunt or his mom. I guess that's normal, because I was his shelter for so long._  
  
_I don't see him that way. I want what so many others have had with him- No- I want more. _  
  
_He loved me when I was a car. I thought if I had two arms to hold him, he would love me another way. I was wrong. But- I guess I want to be here, like this. There's hope this way. _  
  
_I miss his thoughts in my mind. The intimacy of it. I miss that so much. Now, I can talk to him, sit beside him, yet I have never felt further away. _  
  
Remorse floods through every part of Dean as he reads her words. She's in pain- Pain he's been causing. That was never his intention.  
  
She's more human than he ever guessed, even when she wasn't.  
  
A scream sounds through the bunker, and he's on his feet moments later. Pala. Instantly, he runs through what could be wrong in his mind. She could have fallen, maybe something managed to get through their defenses, is she hurt, will she need a doctor, is she-  
  
Dean flips the light switch in her room to see her sitting in the middle of her bed, arms around her knees, struggling to breathe.  
  
"Pala? What's wrong? Talk to me!"  
  
He seats himself across from her, his knee pressing against her thigh, and gently unlocks her arms, tilts her face up, looks into wide and frightened eyes.  
  
"What's wrong?" he asks again, a little softer this time, now that he realizes she's not injured.  
  
"I. I had a..." She frowns. "A nightmare, I think."  
  
"It was just a bad dream," Dean tells her soothingly, stroking his thumb back and forth over her wrist.  
  
Pala shakes her head. "I've never dreamed before, not that I remember. Not since I've been here. But this..." She shudders. "It was so _real_."  
  
"Nightmares are like that sometimes." He hesitates for a second, then tugs at her wrist, lays his other hand on her shoulder and presses his fingers against her skin. "Come here, Pala."  
  
She looks at him in surprise, but he nods, and Pala scoots forward on the bed, lays her head on his shoulder, lets him wrap his arms around her. She shakes in his embrace, breathing deep and heavy as she tries to calm herself. Dean rubs small circles onto her bare back, the thin strap of her shirt under his palm, and they are closer than they've been, sides pressed together, shoulders bumping, but suddenly, this isn't enough for him.  
  
"Shh...It's over now. Hey, listen to me- You're alright." Dean moves away, brushes the hair out of her face. "Do you want to come sleep with me tonight?"  
  
She stares.  
  
"I'm serious," he continues. "Sam used to do it all the time when he was a kid."  
  
"Sam did not used to do it _all the time_," says a deep voice from behind him, and Dean turns to see his brother in the doorway. "But, yeah- No shame in not wanting to be alone after a bad dream, Pala. Wanna go get something to eat?"  
  
"I don't think rabbit food classifies as a midnight snack, Sam," Dean says sarcastically.  
  
Pala laughs a little at the brothers' exchange, and Dean returns his gaze to her.  
  
"What's it gonna be?" he asks her.  
  
"I, um..." She looks over his shoulder, to Sam, and seconds later, Dean hears quiet footsteps announcing his brother's retreat. "I'd like to sleep with you."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Dean takes her hand, she gets to her feet, and he leads her down the hall to his room. The door shuts with an audible click, and he pulls off his overshirt, undoes the button on his jeans, but leaves them on and slides into bed, then waits for Pala to do the same. She sits at the edge of the bed, her shorts riding up to reveal her right thigh, and Dean reaches out, traces his fingers over what he finds.  
  
"You have scars," he says.  
  
She smiles. "They didn't hurt. I like them- Reminds me of happier times."  
  
He pauses, because while she's smiling, he can hear the sadness in her words, and he winces a little, because now he knows he's the cause.  
  
"You know, Pala... I don't... I don't think of you as my mom."  
  
Now, it's her turn to pause. Her eyes narrow a little, but there's no real anger in them. "You read my journal."  
  
"I'd apologize, but I'm glad I did."  
  
He traces the DW on her leg, then lays his whole hand over the scars, looks up at her. There is so much he wants to tell her- That he knows she's a woman. That his feelings for her are different but scarily similar to what they were. That it's not just Sam who's her friend. That he misses the intimacy too, though he'd never thought of it in those exact terms. That he wants her here, like this.  
  
But all Dean says is, "Come here, Baby," and he fights a sigh of relief when he sees the instant understanding, the pure joy, in her eyes.


	6. Five

It's never discussed, but after that night, Dean's room becomes their room. They sleep in a tangle of limbs each night, and every morning when Pala wakes, his arms are wrapped securely around her. As sad as she was at first, she's happier than she's ever been.  
  
Dean is surprisingly casual in his affection. Running a hand through her hair in the morning before pressing his lips to her forehead, stepping behind her as she's washing dishes to wrap his arms around her middle, a gentle squeeze to the nape of her neck as they sit side by side, and of course, her favorite: How he kisses her at the most random of intervals. Sometimes, it's a firm but short press of lips as he teaches her to cook or gets up to leave the work table. Often, though, it's more intimate, his long fingers wrapped firmly around her hip, his knuckles brushing against her cheek, and Dean claims her whole mouth as his own, and Pala learns there are many ways to kiss and be kissed. She loves every one of them.   
  
They haven't made love yet, and some part of her is grateful. She has seen Dean in plenty of intimate moments. The visual knowledge combined with her lack of a physical one makes her anxious. Dean hasn't pushed, but when they first wake in the mornings, she can feel his need for her. She needs him just as much, even if she's too scared to do anything about it.   
  
She wants to ask him why the sudden change in their relationship, but she's afraid doing so will destroy what they have. So, Pala keeps quiet and doesn't look for answers, but her face gives her away one night, drops the question that she won't. Much to her surprise, Dean, a man who doesn't talk about his feelings, tells her in a low voice what she's wanted to know.   
  
"I never want you to feel...like you did when you wrote that," Dean says. "I don't want you to think that I...that I don't care. I didn't handle it at all when you first changed, but that's on me, not you. It was never your fault." He sighs, shifts so he can bury his face in her neck, mumbles the next words into her skin. "How I feel about you, Baby- That didn't- I mean- Alright?"   
  
And it is. Far more than just 'alright,' really. Because Pala knows him well enough to know all the things he's not saying.   
  
A week passes far too quickly, and Castiel is unpacking into Pala's old room.   
  
"I don't like the idea of you alone. So, Cas is gonna stay with you while we're gone." Dean presses a phone into her hand. "I'll call you. We should be back in a week."   
  
"Be safe," she tells him, trying to keep her voice steady. She doesn't like this, doesn't like him and Sam going without her or the rental car they've chosen. It's a Toyota- How much protection can it offer them? But, she doesn't voice any of this, just pulls Dean in by his shirt and tilts her face upwards for one last kiss.   
  
"I'll be home soon," he promises.   
  
"You'd better be."   
  
He grins at her, looking younger than he is for the briefest of moments, and she smiles despite her fear.   
  
"Dean?" calls Sam. "Come on, we gotta go."   
  
Dean leans down, touches his lips to her cheek, and seconds later, he's gone. Pala bites her bottom lip; she knows exactly who Dean Winchester is and what he does, why he does it. She believes in him and his work, but _oh how_ she wishes she could still be with him.   
  
Castiel appears by her side, and she turns her head, meets his gaze. His blue eyes are kind, even a little curious. She gives him a small smile that he returns immediately.   
  
"You used to be the Impala," he says.   
  
"And you used to be an angel," she replies.   
  
He nods, pauses before speaking, as though searching for the right words. "It's strange to be a human. There's so much more to it than I originally thought. I lived among them for years, but I'm still..."  
  
"Learning," supplies Pala. "Every day. It's overwhelming."   
  
"Yes. Yes, it is."   
  
"But, it's not so bad."   
  
Castiel smiles. "No, it's really not, is it?"   
  
Pala smiles back, thinks about the warmth of Dean's arms and the green of his eyes, about the way she feels when he presses the line of his body to hers and kisses her mouth, then her cheek, then her jaw.   
  
"Wouldn't trade it," she says simply. 

  
*

  
Three days in Alabama, and Dean is ready for this hunt to be over. Pala was right- It's one of the creatures John had hunted decades ago, and luckily, between the three of them, they managed to scrounge up some lore. The monster managed to fly under the Men of Letters radar, and it has no official name, but all the accounts refer to it simply as a Screamer. Dean doesn't like that. It doesn't bode well. Fortunately, it seems easy enough to kill; at the least, nothing specific is mentioned, so as soon as they can track it, he and Sam will just throw whatever's in their portable arsenal at it until it drops.   
  
Dean recognizes that he's going to have to buy a new car soon, because travelling with weapons requires a better hiding place than in the spare tire's spot. He misses the Impala's trunk, but when all is said and done, he's happier this way.   
  
He misses Baby, called several times since he left, pointedly ignoring Sam's grins and teasing. She and Castiel seem to be getting along well, which almost makes him a little jealous. He's glad they've formed a friendship, and he trusts both of them completely: Still, he'll be glad to get back home.  
  
Which won't be nearly as soon as Dean would like.   
  
Since they've gotten here, there haven't been any suspicious deaths, but a few pets have gone missing. They've seen the signs posted around town, rewards offered for the safe return of Mr. Bingo and Fluffers, and Dean winces when he sees them. These animals aren't coming home again. He just hopes he'll be able to find the Screamer before a person disappears.   
  
His phone sits next to him on the table, and he glances down at it often, hoping to see it flash with her number.   
  
"Dude, you can't call her every ten minutes," Sam says, a tease in his voice, and Dean looks up and shoots his brother a glare.   
  
"I'm not calling every ten minutes. I'm just. I'm worried about her," he admits. "Cas is great, but he's only just barely human, and so is she. I don't like this. I don't like being away from her."   
  
Sam's face softens a little in sympathy, and it grates on Dean's nerves.   
  
"She'll be fine," Sam assures him. "Really. Cas isn't gonna let anything happen to her."   
  
"Accidents happen. And jeez, man, she is so accident prone."   
  
"She's still getting used to walking."   
  
Dean shakes his head. "We can't do anything normal, can we? My girlfriend used to be my car, and now she's human because..."   
  
He still can't say it out loud. There's something too cliché, too romantic, about the concept. It would be impossible to ignore the fact that there's a strong bond between them, but to actually give into Sam's phrasing would be too much.   
  
Sam gives a small laugh, and Dean narrows his eyes.   
  
"What?"   
  
"Nothing. It's just- You've never called anyone, not even Lisa, your girlfriend."   
  
Which is true, but Dean doesn't want to talk about that either.   
  
"Let's get back to work." 

  
*

  
Pala enjoys Castiel's company, and she's glad Dean asked the former angel to stay with her. It would have been incredibly lonely to be here by herself.   
  
It's been a week, and it's taking the boys longer than they anticipated to track the Screamer. When Dean calls late at night, his voice is gruff and thick with guilt- Someone went missing in the small town last night. Pala knows there's no way to tell him he's not to blame, knows from his thoughts after other cases where he's lost someone, that he will always think there was something more he could have done. It makes her sad to know that he never realizes that he's fighting things that don't play by the rules, that have abilities he doesn't, and he still comes out on top every time. She recognizes, though, that casualties in this war against evil are not a reality anyone ever wants to face.   
  
She listens to his halting explanation, let him curse about how he can't figure out how to find the damn thing, and searches her memory for what little remains of that hunt with John so long ago. Finally, when Dean pauses to take several deep and angry breaths, she speaks.   
  
"I don't know if this will help or not, but I think... I'm pretty sure John found it near the woods. I remember pulling off the highway and a barbed wire fence. I don't remember how he lured it out, but I do know, with the way this thing looks... It can only be moving at night, Dean. There's no way it could move around in the day without being noticed."   
  
There is silence for almost a minute, and then:   
  
"Thanks, Baby."   
  
She feels warm affection spread through her chest. "You're welcome, Dean."   
  
He lets out a long sigh, and she can imagine him running his hand through his hair in frustration and worry.   
  
"How are you doing?"   
  
"I'm fine. Castiel is nice."   
  
"Yeah, he's a good guy." Dean clears his throat. "You, um- So you're getting along then?"   
  
"We are. Neither of us started out human, so we have that in common."   
  
"Right."   
  
"Dean."  
  
"Yeah?"   
  
"Castiel is my friend. You're my..." She pauses, unsure of herself, but she knows Dean needs some validation. "You don't need to be jealous."   
  
"I'm not jealous," Dean says a little too adamantly, and she smiles.   
  
"Okay. Just in case you start to get that way."   
  
"Baby..." He lets out a soft laugh. "We should be home in a few days, at least that's what I'm hoping."   
  
"I'll be here."   
  
They say their goodbyes, and then the call ends with a click.   
  
She sets the phone down on the counter, smiles over at Castiel.   
  
"Dean's jealous of you."   
  
"Why?"   
  
"I think because you're here, and he's not." She shrugs. "It's kind of...I don't know, but it makes me feel...wanted."   
  
"You are wanted," Castiel says. "Dean wouldn't have let you stay if you weren't."   
  
Pala smiles again. Castiel is far more literal than Sam or Dean, or even she is. But, it's a nice reassurance all the same.   
  
"You're right," she tells him. "It's just good to hear, that's all." 

  
*

  
It's been thirty-six hours since she heard from either Winchester. Pala has called twice, restrained herself from calling a dozen times, and she's beginning to get worried. She hates not being with them, not knowing the details of what they're doing, only getting things second hand. She's had to sit and wait before, but this time is so much harder.   
  
Pala is trying to keep busy. She writes more in her journal, reads a little, talks to Castiel. Their conversations are light and easy, comparing their experiences in humanity, and she finds that while he has lived in human form for longer than she has, she understands their complexities, especially Dean's, much better than Castiel does. It's the day to day stuff that trips her up- Showering, cooking, all the tiny little things that can bring damage to her body. After a month, though, she's finally getting a handle on it.   
  
Or, that's what she thinks, until while carrying a basket of clean laundry, she trips going down the stairs and lands hard on her ankle. Pala cries out in pain, and Castiel comes around the corner a few seconds later.   
  
"Pala? Are you okay?" he asks, concerned.   
  
"I hurt my ankle," she says, her voice shaking as tears roll down her face.   
  
Castiel kneels, grips her elbows with gentle hands, and helps her to her feet. As soon as she puts weight on her left foot, she hisses and loses her balance, grateful when Castiel keeps her upright as she shifts her weight.   
  
"Is it broken?"   
  
"I don't know. I can't walk on it."   
  
He frowns. "We should take you to a hospital."   
  
"No, no. Dean's had way worse, and-"   
  
"I promised him I would take care of you," Castiel says firmly. "I can't heal you, so I'm taking you to someone who can."   
  
"But, can you drive?" she argues. "I can't walk that far."   
  
"There are cars in the garage, but no, I can't drive." He's thoughtful. "Maybe we can call someone- I think it's called a cab."   
  
Pala shakes her head. "I don't want anyone coming here." She pauses. "Help me get down to the garage. I used to be a car. If anyone knows how to drive, it's me."   
  
Castiel hasn't stopped frowning, but her ankle is throbbing and when she looks down, she sees it's starting to swell.   
  
"Castiel, what other choice do we have?"   
  
Looking displeased, he nods, slips his arm under her shoulder, and they make their way slowly across the bunker. Pala bites her lip. Dean's not going to be happy about this. 

  
*

  
Thanks to Pala's advice, they managed to find the Screamer, whose name was just as bad as it implied- Dean's ears are still ringing. Three silver rounds to the heart, and the thing dropped, but rather than take chances, he and Sam had set it on fire and watched it burn. They're both covered in sweat and soot and dirt, but Dean lets Sam take the first shower. He sinks into the chair at the table and pulls out his phone to tell Pala he'll be home late tomorrow. He needs rest, and it's a long drive back to Kansas.  
  
There are three voicemails waiting for him when he turns his phone on.   
  
"Hey, Dean. It's Pala. Call me when you can."  
  
"It's Pala again. Just wanted to see how you guys are doing. Call me. Be safe."   
  
Dean smiles at the sound of her voice, even with the note of anxiety in it. He knows she hadn't wanted to stay behind, and he admits that the entire hunt felt off without her, but there's nothing that can be done about that.   
  
The third voicemail makes him freeze.   
  
"Dean, it's Castiel. Pala fell. We're on our way to the hospital-"  
  
He doesn't listen to the rest, just yells, "Sam! Get out- We're leaving now." 


	7. Six

**Full Name**, Pala reads. **Last, First, Middle Initial **  
  
_Winchester, Impala SS  
  
_**Date of Birth  
  
**She frowns. That one's a little harder, so she just writes, _1967_.   
  
**Social Security Number** is something she doesn't have, and it might be strange for her to write down her VIN number. Pala shakes her head, leaves the line blank.   
  
**Any known allergies?**   
  
Diesel, but that's not really what they're asking about, she doesn't think.   
  
**Any existing medical condition? Any current medications?   
  
**She puts down _No_ for both, thankful she can fill at least a couple things out.   
  
**Any history of mental disorder?  
  
**Sighing, she leaves that line blank as well. Pala doesn't think she's crazy, but she isn't exactly sure that hearing someone's thought is exactly normal or something the hospital needs to know.  
  
**Date of last menstrual cycle?  
  
**Pala studies the question. This one is in the female section, and she is sure she's the only woman who has no idea what this question means. It makes her feel even more out of place, and she draws a line through it, just because it bothers her so much.   
  
**Number of sexual partners in the last three months?  
  
**With a blush, she puts down a _0_ and places the pen on the clipboard. She's done filling out this form- There are too many questions that she doesn't know the answer to, several more that she can't answer period, and Castiel isn't likely to know what to do about it either.  
  
Her phone buzzes in her lap, and she glances down to see Dean's name flash on the screen. Pala answers quickly, says hello, but his response is garbled, and she struggles to get to her feet, Castiel rising to his own to guide her next to the waiting room's window.  
  
"Dean? Can you hear me?"  
  
"Baby? Are you okay?" Dean's voice is tight with stress, and she glares at Castiel, who looks at her with startled blue eyes.  
  
"Dean, I'm fine. I just hurt my ankle. Didn't Castiel-"  
  
"I didn't listen to the whole message. I had to make sure you were alright."  
  
"Dean..." She can't fight the small smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth, even though she can tell he's still unhappy. Maybe it's wrong, but it makes her feel good, knowing how worried he was for her. "Where are you?" Pala asks at last. If he's still working the case, he needs to be focused on that, not on her.  
  
"We're on the road, headed home. Ganked the Screamer earlier."  
  
"Are you both alright?" She _hates_ not already knowing. She should have been there.  
  
"We're fine, Baby," grits out Dean. "What did you do to your ankle?"  
  
"I'm not sure. We're in the waiting room." She looks down at her wrist, at the paper bracelet with a large number on it. "I think I'm going to be here a while."  
  
"Pala..." He sighs.  
  
"Dean, I'm sorry. I fell down the stairs, and I can't put any weight on my ankle. Castiel insisted we come here."  
  
"Don't apologize. It's not like you did it on purpose, and Cas is right- I'm not there, you need to be where someone can check you out." Dean takes a deep breath, and she would almost swear she can hear his thoughts again, because she knows what he's about to ask before the words leave his mouth. "Pala...How did you get to the hospital?"  
  
"I drove."  
  
The growl of frustration is expected, but it only serves to irritate her, which is a somewhat foreign feeling to her, especially where Dean is concerned.  
  
"What was I supposed to do, Dean? It's not like I had a lot of options, and Castiel can't. Besides, who is really more qualified than me to drive a car?"  
  
"Pala, I know you used to be- Jesus Christ, this is so fucking- But, it doesn't mean-"  
  
"We got here safely," interrupts Pala. "It was easy. And honestly...It's the most normal I've felt since...Since everything happened. It's my left ankle that's hurt, not my right, and that's what I needed to drive. Dean, please, don't turn this into... I'm not an idiot or a child, and you're not to blame for this. I'm safe, the car we borrowed is parked in the lot, and everything is fine. Except my ankle, but it will be too. So, can you please just stop?"  
  
Without warning, Pala hears Sam erupt into laughter, and she winces. She hadn't realized she was on speaker phone.  
  
"Dean, I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't be," says Sam cheerfully. "He needed to hear it."  
  
"Shut up, Sam." There's a moment of quiet, Sam still chuckling in the background, and Pala sighs. While she means every word, she hadn't wanted the younger Winchester to hear it. But, Dean speaks again a second later, no trace of anger in his words. "You're really okay?"  
  
"I am. Or, I will be."  
  
"Good. Baby, I...I was really worried."  
  
She knows this tone- Soft and vulnerable, usually reserved for his brother, but this is gentler still than she's ever heard. Her aggravation with him is momentarily forgotten, and she shifts her weight slightly, biting the inside of her mouth to keep from crying out when she puts too much pressure on her wounded ankle.  
  
"I know. Drive safe, and I'll see you when you get here."  
  
"Yeah. Just..." Pala waits patiently, knows there's something else he wants to say, but Dean only sighs. "Call me if you need something."  
  
"Of course, Dean," she replies, a little confused at the reminder. She can tell that's not what he's thinking from the way he said it, but she doesn't push the issue. "You know I will."  
  
"I'll call when we get closer. Let me talk to Cas." 

  
*

  
An hour later, she's finally called back, and Castiel follows her through the double doors to the emergency room. A nurse in pink scrubs frowns at the form Pala left mostly blank, but doesn't comment right away, just gets a wheelchair and pushes her down several hallways. Castiel stands off to the side as she gets her x-ray, and the technician smiles at her encouragingly.  
  
"Not broken," the man tells her. "Don't even think it's sprained- Just a bad twist, probably, but the doctor will talk to you in a little while."  
  
Pala is relieved at his assessment, but her relief quickly turns to aggravation when another hour passes in the little cubicle of a room, waiting on the doctor to appear and tell her she can leave. Castiel sits beside her bed, changing channels, nothing able to hold his interest for longer than ten minutes. Pala barely notices. She wants to go home and wait for Dean to get there. This entire trip was a waste of time, but she is determined not to take her irritation out on the angel at her side.  
  
After what feels like forever, a man walks in, clipboard in hand.  
  
"Hello, I'm Doctor McGinley."  
  
"Pala," she says. "This is Castiel."  
  
"Is this your husband?"  
  
"No," answers the angel. "I'm a friend of her romantic partner. His name is Dean."  
  
The doctor blinks. "Right. So, you came in for your ankle. It's not broken, but you should try to stay off of it for a few days. You can take some Tylenol for the pain, also try an ice pack or a heating pad to help with the swelling."  
  
"Yes, I understand," says Castiel. "I'm sure Dean will be able to take care of her. He's very good with injuries."  
  
McGinley frowns. "Do you get a lot of injuries, Miss Winchester?"  
  
"Not really. I mean, I've been in a couple of wrecks, but-" She stops abruptly. There's no way for her to explain that she's never been hurt the way this man is asking about. "I've never broken a bone or anything."  
  
He nods. "I have a few questions about the form you filled out with your medical history." He seats himself on the stool in the room and pulls a pen out of his pocket. "You left most of it blank."  
  
"None of it seemed important for a broken ankle," Pala says. It's not exactly a lie.  
  
"It's not, but this is standard information. I have some concerns. Have you sustained any head injuries lately?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Have you experienced any lapses in memory?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Can you tell me your date of birth?"  
  
"I...I don't know it. Maybe Dean does. I was m- Born in nineteen sixty-seven."  
  
She doesn't like the look on the doctor's face when she mentions Dean's name.  
  
"Are you sure, Miss Winchester? Because you look like you're in your early thirties- Are you absolutely sure that's when you were born?"  
  
"Of course I am."  
  
"How long have you and Dean been together?"  
  
"I've known him since he was born, but we've only been...involved romantically for about a week."  
  
And that- The doctor doesn't like that answer either, but she can't read his expression.  
  
"You're in your late forties- Have you started menopause? Is that why you didn't put down the date of your last menstrual cycle? Have you stopped menstruating already?"  
  
Pala frowns. "I don't know what any of that means."  
  
McGinley's eyes narrow, and he looks almost angry with her, as though she's deliberately trying to frustrate him.  
  
"Your period, Miss Winchester. When is the last time you got your period?"  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about." She looks over at Castiel. "Do you?"  
  
"I do not know what he means. Sir, are you asking about a specific measure of time or asking her something related to the rules of grammar?"  
  
The doctor blinks, and if she had to guess, she would say he's in a slight state of shock.  
  
"You're serious," says McGinley in wonder. "You really don't have any idea what I'm talking about, either of you."  
  
Pala and Castiel both shake their heads, and the doctor sighs. He then looks directly at her and very calmly explains to her what menstruation is. She can feel her eyes widen.  
  
"No, I've never had that happen."  
  
"You're in your late forties, and you've never had a period?"  
  
"No," she says. "Why?"  
  
"It's just..." He sighs. "Ma'am, I know you came in for your ankle, but I'm worried you may have other health problems. Your memory lapses-"  
  
"My memory is fine."  
  
"And your lack of menstruation indicate that-"  
  
"Indicate what? I came in because Castiel said we needed to have my ankle checked. It's not broken, and I want to go home."  
  
"I understand that, Miss Winchester, but I think it would be in your best interest if you let us run some tests- Just to make sure you're alright."  
  
Castiel touches her shoulder lightly, and she looks up at him. His face is troubled, the blue eyes pinched in stress.  
  
"I think you should do the tests, Pala," he says. "Dean would want you to. He'll worry if you don't."  
  
She sighs. "Alright, fine." She turns back to McGinley and nods. "Run your tests." 

  
*

  
Dean is cursing the Toyota as he tries to turn as sixteen hour drive into a shorter one.  
  
"Dude, it's just her ankle. Relax."  
  
"Not helping, Sammy."  
  
Dean appreciates what his brother is trying to do, but it doesn't help. Bottom line, Baby is hurt, and he hasn't heard from either her or Cas in hours. He's more than on edge; he's free-falling into his worry, into how much worse it could have been.  
  
"Pretty amazing that she managed to drive herself."  
  
"She shouldn't have had to."  
  
"Yeah, but, Dean- It's something you would do. She's a Winchester, through and through." "What's your point, Sam?"  
  
"That at some point, you're going to have to deal with the fact that she's a person."  
  
"Thought I already did that."  
  
Dean glances over at his brother, wonders where he's going with this line of conversation.  
  
"I don't mean your feelings towards her; I mean long term. She's going to be around for a while, and she's not going to want to sit bench forever, man. She drove herself to the hospital with a messed up ankle, she helped us find that Screamer. Face it, Dean. She's going to want to hunt."  
  
"Out of the question, Sam. She doesn't...She's not a hunter. She's..."  
  
"A woman? We know plenty of women that hunt, and it'd be stupid not to use her experience. I'm just saying, what with her knowledge of Dad's hunts and yours, she's-"  
  
"She's mine."  
  
The silence in the car is suffocating. Dean hadn't even known he was going to say it, but now that it's out of his mouth, he realizes how true it is. Pala is his, and he doesn't want to lose her to the life. There's no reason for her to hunt.  
  
Carefully, Sam says, "Of course, she is, Dean. But, she's her own person. What about what she wants?"  
  
Dean doesn't have time to answer. The phone rings, and he grabs for it.  
  
"Cas?"  
  
"Dean, they want to run some tests on Pala."  
  
"Tests?" Dean grips the phone a little tighter in his hand. "For her ankle?"  
  
"No, her ankle is fine. It's the form that started the problem."  
  
"The form? Cas, what the hell are you talking about?"  
  
"She doesn't know her birthday."  
  
"Her birthday? What does that-"  
  
"So, the doctor came in to ask her a bunch of questions. I don't think he likes you, Dean."  
  
"He doesn't even know me," says Dean.  
  
"I don't think it matters. He keeps asking about you, and every time Pala answers, he looks angry."  
  
Dean sighs. "That's great, Cas. What kind of tests are they running?"  
  
"Several. They're testing her memory right now, and then they said something about an ultrasound, to see why she doesn't menstruate."  
  
"Why she doesn't- Oh, come on!" Dean presses a little harder on the accelerator. "Look, just sit tight. We're about fourteen hours away, but I'm trying to get us there faster."  
  
"We should be back to the bunker by then."  
  
"Just call me, Cas, and let me know if you guys need anything. Let me talk to Pala."  
  
"I can't. She's with the doctors right now. I have to go."  
  
Dean sighs. "Alright. Just- Call, okay?"  
  
"Yes, Dean."  
  
He tosses his cell phone back onto the seat beside him and changes lanes, passing up several vehicles as Sam clears his throat.  
  
"Uh- Her birthday?"  
  
"She tried to fill out the admittance form by herself, ran into some problems. Bet they've never treated a sixty-seven Impala before."  
  
Dean refuses to worry any more than he already is. The conversation with Sam struck a nerve; he doesn't want to keep Pala locked up, try to stop her from doing what she wants, but the idea of losing her, when they've only just started out...  
  
The needle slips past ninety, and he doesn't notice or care.

  
*

  
She's finally home, and she's begged Castiel not to tell Dean anything about what the doctors said. She'll do it in her own time, but first, she has to process it herself.  
  
_Scarring on the uterine walls_, McGinley said.  
  
The look on the ultrasound technician's face had been one of pure horror, and Pala knew without the woman saying anything that something was wrong, very very wrong.  
  
_Never seen it this bad before. Indicative of endometriosis. Follow up with a gynecologist. _  
  
Only, she doesn't have a regular doctor, because until a month ago, she'd needed a mechanic. Her mechanic. Dean. And she needs him now more than ever.  
  
_Why you never had children._  
  
Pala pushes on her lower abdomen, where she's learned her uterus is. She's learned a lot in the last several hours. Inside of her, there is a place where a child could grow... Only it can't. And that shouldn't bother her as much as it does. It isn't like she and Dean were planning for a family, not like they're planning for much of anything- They're just trying to handle the situation they're in and adapt to the newness of their relationship.  
  
But, to hear it, to know that something inside of her is broken...it makes her feel _less_ of a woman and more of a freak. It reminds her that while she may look human, she didn't start that way.  
  
She begins to theorize, likens her scarred womb to her trunk- It, too, carries things safely, and it also only vaguely resembles what it's supposed to.  
  
Being human offers so much pain.  
  
She lays awake for long hours, finally drifts off to sleep, but she hears the creak in the door when Dean walks in. She rolls over to face him, searches through the dark for his outline, watching as he strips down to his undershirt and boxers. The bed dips under his weight, and his warmth is a welcome thing as he slides between the sheets.  
  
Pala moves into the circle of his arms and buries her face in soft cotton. A sob is torn from her throat, shaking her whole body, prompting Dean to tighten his hold, one hand palming the back of her head.  
  
"Hey, hey," he whispers. "What's wrong, Baby?"  
  
She can't answer, and he doesn't push, though she can feel his tension. Pala cries for a long time, her sobs eventually giving way to deep breaths that she copies from Dean, and she loosens her hold on his shirt, lays her hands against the muscles of his back.  
  
"I can't have a baby," she whispers back at last. "That's what they told me."  
  
"Pala..."  
  
"I don't want to talk about it right now. I just want to lay here. With you."  
  
He doesn't reply, just wipes her face and kisses both cheeks, then pulls her flush against his chest again. She lets herself be comforted by his simple movements, by his solid presence and gentle press of lips against her hair and sighs softly into the dark.  
Being human offers a lot of love, as well.


	8. Seven

Pala spends the next few days in bed, letting the swelling in her ankle go down, and Dean spends those days with her. They haven't talked about what the doctor told her. Dean doesn't know how to bring up the subject or even if he should. Instead, he focuses on what he knows how to do.   
  
He helps her in and out of the shower, a steady hand on her elbow, and he forces himself to keep his eyes above her shoulders. Once she's wrapped a towel around herself, Dean picks her up and carries her back to their room- Not because she can't walk, but because the first time he did it, she giggled for the first time since she got back from the hospital. He can't resist the sound or the sight.   
  
Dean checks her ankle frequently. Just a bad twist, the joint starting out the size of a lemon, slowly but surely becoming smaller as the days pass. He makes sure to keep ice on it, propping pillows under her foot, teases that she's a far better patient than Sam ever was, even as a kid. This also gets him a smile, and better still, she reminisces with him about little Sammy refusing to take medicine, how a much younger Dean had to bribe him with damn near everything a nine year old could to finally get his little brother to swallow children's cough syrup. Her smile wavers a little, talking about children, but stays put, and though Dean changes the subject, he tries to stay hopeful.   
  
He brings his laptop into their room, and they spend the majority of their time watching old movies. Dean keeps an arm wrapped around Baby, hand resting on the curve of her waist, likes the way she lays her head on his shoulder and snuggles closer every so often.   
  
She doesn't talk about it, what the doctor told her, but he catches her crying more than once. Dean simply pulls her closer, lets his shirt soak up her tears, runs his hands over her hair, her back, her arms, kisses her face and lips. He wishes he knew the right words to say to comfort her. For his own part, he doesn't know exactly how he feels about the news, except that there's a painful feeling inside him when he thinks about it. It's not so much that he ever believed he'd win any Dad of the Year awards or that kids were a definite part of his future, but to have the option completely taken away... Dean and Pala aren't like other couples; adoption agencies aren't going to even consider them as prospective parents.   
  
To lose something he never admitted he wanted- Dean finds this remarkably cruel. But beyond that, beyond the crushing disappointment, it makes him see what he has and that what he wants most is a life with Pala.   
  
Only, Dean's not so sure what _she_ wants.   
  
As soon as she's able to put weight on her ankle, Pala stops spending the bulk of her time with him. She goes for runs with Sam, leaving Dean to wake alone each morning. She disappears in the vastness of the bunker for the majority of the day. Dean fills the time like he always has before, finding it hard to concentrate on possible cases or cleaning his weapons. He ends up tinkering with some of the cars in the garage, none of them bringing him the same kind of peace he'd experienced with Baby- And acknowledging this only frustrates him further.   
  
A solid week passes like this. Dean is just grateful that he gets to see his brother and Pala at dinner, even more glad that she lays down next to him each night and lets him hold her. Things could be worse.   
  
"Dean? Can I talk to you?"   
  
It's Pala, and he looks up to smile at her, nods, moves over on the bench at the kitchen table to make room for her. She takes a seat next to him, angles herself so that they're facing each other.   
  
She takes a deep breath, and on the exhale says, "Did you see the notes I left for you? By your laptop?"   
  
Dean nods. "The Wendigo? Yeah, I called Jackson- He's in the area anyway, said he'd check it out."   
  
"Oh."   
  
Dean frowns at the look of disappointment on her face. "What's wrong?"   
  
"I just. I thought, maybe, um. You'd want to."   
  
"Not really. Not after... I should be here with you."   
  
"I wanted to go."   
  
"You... Absolutely not. No way, Baby. There's no reason for you to-"  
  
"To what? I've been there through everything, Dean. I watched Sammy jump in that pit. Saw John kill plenty of monsters. Watched you dig up plenty of graves. I've been around the job."   
  
"That's different. And not the point. You weren't..."   
  
"What? I wasn't what?" demands Pala, steel colored eyes flashing with anger. "Human? I'm aware of what I am and what I was, Dean, but thanks for reminding me."   
  
He goes to speak, but doesn't, because a tear rolls down her cheek and renders him silent. Angrily, Pala brushes it away and continues.   
  
"I'm not going to just sit here in this bunker, waiting for you to come home, worried that you won't. Not when I can help. Not when I _should_ help. Sam says it's okay. He's been helping me with some of the basics, says I'm a natural, and really, after almost forty years with the Winchesters, I'd have to be an idiot to not know the basics of weapons and self-defense. And I'm _not_ stupid," Pala says defensively, wiping away at another several tears.   
  
"Hey, I never said you were. Come here."   
  
He opens his arms to her, not sure what to expect, but she leans forward, lays her head on his chest, shaking a little as he lays a hand on her back, rubbing firmly.   
  
"Me not wanting you hunting isn't because I think you're stupid. I don't want you to get hurt."  Pala pulls away, which isn't surprising, but he keeps a hand on her shoulder when she does.  "Clearly, I can get hurt right here. I could have broken my neck, not just twisted my ankle."   
  
Dean flinches. "Don't remind me."   
  
"You can't just lock me up in here and expect me to stay safe! I don't want to be away from you, and I don't want to spend my life wandering around here like some housewife, when I'm not, when there aren't any reasons for me to stay."   
  
And suddenly, just like that, a light bulb goes off in Dean's head. He scoots closer to her, takes her hand in his, brushes his knuckles against her cheek.   
  
"This is about-"   
  
"You want kids so badly, Dean. You love Ben so, so much. I know you want a family, and don't tell me it's not true. I listened to your thoughts for I don't even know how long. And I can't- I can't give you that." She shakes her head, speaking even as she continues to cry. "But, I can hunt with you. I can be a partner to you."   
  
"Baby." Dean pulls her back against his chest, kisses the top of her head. "I already have a family."  
  
"But-"   
  
"I know you heard my thoughts, but you can't hear them now. You're just going to have to trust me, Pala. I do love Ben, but not nearly as much as I..." He sighs. "If you really- I understand if you don't want to spend all your time here. We can talk about that. But as for what I want...What I want is _you_, Pala. I want this, right here. That's all I want." Dean swallows, pulls away to tilt her chin up so he can lock gazes with her. "What about you? What do you want?"   
  
"You," she says without hesitation. "I want you."   
  
_Thank God_, Dean thinks to himself, then pulls Baby back into his arms and lets her cry until she can't anymore.

  
*

  
The next two days pass in similar fashion, except that Pala has stopped avoiding Dean, and after her post-run shower, she crawls back into bed for a little while. There are quiet conversations in these early hours, where Dean listens more than he talks, but doesn't remain entirely silent. When they're both up, he follows her down to the gun range, takes over where Sam left off, and Dean begrudgingly admits that she's a fairly good shot for a beginner. It doesn't make him feel better about her joining them on a hunt.  
  
"Why is this so important to you?" he asks her finally as she's reloading the magazine for her pistol.   
  
She glances at him briefly, honest curiosity in her eyes before she looks back at what she's doing.   
  
"Am I a Winchester, Dean?" asks Pala softly, the magazine clicking back into place. "Or am I still just the Impala?"   
  
Dean frowns, but she doesn't push for an answer, just raises the pistol and fires off five rounds, then hands the weapon over to him wordlessly. He does the same, mind not on the paper target, but on her question, and when he finishes, he lays the pistol down.   
  
"You're my Baby," he answers finally.   
  
"Yes," says Pala, and Dean relaxes a little at the warm affection in her tone. "I'm your Baby, Dean. I always will be. But, beyond that, am I still the Impala, or am I a Winchester?"   
  
"What are you asking me?"   
  
"I'm asking... Am I something you own? Or am I a person? Am I part of this _family_? Because if I'm part of this family- _This_," she says, indicating the pistol, ammo and firing range, "is the family business. And I should be a part of it. But, if I'm the Impala- Then I'm just an object, and I have to do what I'm told."   
  
"Baby, you're not- I never meant-"   
  
"I know," Pala cuts in gently. "It's still a valid question. I don't know what I am, Dean. I really don't. At first, I was just overwhelmed by being human, then I was just happy that you and I... But, now, I don't know what I am. I feel like a walking freakshow. I look like a woman, but I can't have a baby. I have thoughts and ideas and wants, but I feel like I'm not allowed to do anything about it. And I have loved this family and felt a part of it for _forty years_, Dean. Longer than you've been alive. But now, I'm not part of what makes the Winchesters the Winchesters. So, I'm asking you, Dean- _What am I? Who am I?_"   
  
Dean stares into her face, so earnest in her questioning, her eyes tearing up but none spilling over, and he feels something inside him break. Before him stands the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, the woman he wants to make a life with, and though she stands tall with her shoulders squared, Dean knows he's been doing everything wrong without meaning to. He closes the distance between them, pushes her back against the wall of the booth, hands on her hips, and he dips his head down to kiss her fully on the mouth, putting everything he has into it, hoping it will be enough while his mind tries to find the right words to answer her desperate questions.   
  
Pala grabs two fistfuls of his shirt, drawing him closer as she tips her head back to deepen the kiss, and Dean slips his tongue between her lips, tasting coffee and sugar before he pulls away to search her eyes with his own as he takes a deep breath.   
"You are Pala Winchester," Dean tells her. "That's who you are. And I'm not crazy about the idea of you hunting, but you're a Winchester, through and through. You're not the Impala, not anymore. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and you're mine. Which makes me the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet."   
  
She giggles a little, runs her fingers through his short hair, and he reaches up to circle her wrist with his fingers, presses her hand to his chest. The heat from her palm seeps through the thin material of his tshirt, and Dean grips her hip a little harder, watches as she bites her lip in nervousness.   
  
"Tell me to let you go, and I will," he says, but she shakes her head. Dean lets go of her wrist, but she leaves her hand against his chest as he runs his fingers over her cheek. "You know me better than anyone ever has. You know I'm not great with words."   
"I know you're better than you think you are."   
  
Dean smiles. "Thanks. But, I think you also know what I'm getting at."   
  
It hangs between them, and he hopes he hasn't screwed this up as well. Baby flushes, drops his gaze.   
  
"I don't know how," is what she says. "I mean, I've..." She lets out a nervous giggle. "I've seen, and I've heard how much you like- But, I don't..."   
  
"Do you want to? Because if not, it's-"   
  
"I want to, Dean."   
  
She looks back up, and he can see the truth reflected in her gaze, so he takes the hand on his chest in his own, laces his fingers through hers and gives a small tug, prompting her to follow him. The walk back to their room is unhurried, but there's tension between them, and for the first time in a long time, Dean feels a bit nervous as he closes the door behind himself.   
  
He still has a hold on her hand, and he pulls her into bed, lays them so they're facing each other, then drinks in the sight of her. She is all soft curves and smooth skin, and her eyes are nervous but bright. Dean runs his hand from her thigh up to her waist, squeezes gently, pulls her closer so there is almost no room between them except for the slight distance her arms create.   
  
He feels like he should say something to reassure her, but he can't imagine what that something is. So, instead, he just kisses her, tastes coffee and sugar again, running on instinct rather than sense, and this appears to be the right choice, because she slides a hand across his ribs to his back, the other across his shoulders, bringing them completely flush with one another. Dean's worries leave him instantly; this feels right in a way it never has before, and he wants her so badly, but more than that, he wants her _slowly_.  
  
His mouth slides across her cheek and down her neck, pressing into the hollow of her collarbone, and he undoes the buttons on her shirt, the one he gave her that first day when she tripped in the bathroom, working his way across her chest and up her throat, slipping his hand under the material to travel across the soft skin of her back as he reclaims her lips with his own. She whimpers a little as he pushes against her thigh, seeking a little relief, but it's not nearly enough, so he rolls onto his back, brings her up and above him as she lets out a muted little squeal. Dean grasps her shoulders, pushes her up so he can slide her shirt down her arms, drop it onto the floor, then runs a hand over her chest, continuing on to curl his long fingers possessively around the nape of her neck to bring her against him for another kiss.   
  
But Pala breaks it far too quickly, leans back and tugs at the hem of his shirt. He shifts, sits up and his shirt joins hers on the floor, his arms wrapping around her waist as he pulls her against him, her skin warm against his and he moans at the contact, buries his face in her breasts, kissing every inch of exposed skin, her hands buried in his hair as he undoes the clasp of her bra. The second he pulls away, she lets go, her bra falling over her wrists before she flings it away, and he grins at her for the briefest of moments before finally letting himself get a good look at her.   
  
Her breasts are just big enough to fill up his hands, and he squeezes gently before stroking his thumbs over her nipples, watching as they harden under his touch. Dean takes one into his mouth, suckling lightly, circling with his tongue, his fingers doing the same to other, before he switches. Pala grinds against his lap, moaning quietly, and he lets out an answering groan, but doesn't stop what he's doing. He can't get enough of the way her skin tastes.  
Dean is pushed away and back against the mattress, and Pala follows him down, kisses his neck, then travels the same path he just has, sucking on his nipples, making him arch into her touch, and he grips her ass, pulls her against the erection straining in his jeans. She stops her assault on his chest and looks up.   
  
"Does that- Is that-"   
  
"You're amazing, Baby." Dean lifts up on his elbows, threads his fingers through her hair and presses his mouth to hers, bites her bottom lip. "So beautiful."   
  
He doesn't give her a chance to respond, flips them so he's hovering over her, and she lets out a soft yell of surprise that quickly turns into a laugh, and the sound is gorgeous, unintentionally sexy. Dean kisses his way down her torso, stopping when he gets to the button on her jeans, glances at her face as he hooks two fingers into the belt loop over her pelvis.   
  
"Can I?" he whispers, and she nods.   
  
His eyes never leaving hers, he unbuttons and unzips her jeans, then slips his fingers beneath her panties, gripping the waistband of her pants, then slowly peels them off, her hips raising to make it easier, and she brings her knees back, helping him. He lifts one ankle, kisses the tiny army man tattooed there, and she smiles, watching him as he runs his hands over her knees up to her thighs, where he traces two sets of initials with his fingers and then with his tongue, causing her to let out a shaky breath as she reaches out to curl her fingers around his jaw.   
  
He presses a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh, then to the lips of her sex. She's wet, ready for him, but he _has_ to taste her, so he slides his tongue between her folds, presses inside her entrance, then licks up to her clit. She bucks against his mouth, and he pulls away, just long enough to tell her,   
  
"You taste so good, Baby,"  
  
before going back for more. He listens to the sounds she makes, gasps and whimpers and moans, finding what she likes most, keeps a hand on her leg, feels it tremble under his palm. He loves the way she tastes, wants as much of this as he can get, and slips a finger into her easily. She clenches around him, and he adds another, and Baby moans as he stretches her.   
  
"Dean," she exhales, stretching his name into several syllables as she raises her hips up, bringing his fingers deeper inside her.   
  
Dean sucks her clit into his mouth, suckles lightly, and,   
  
"Oh! _Dean_," Pala moans. Then, "Stop."   
  
He pulls away immediately, looks up, concerned, but her eyes are dark with want, and she's smiling.   
  
"I want all of you," she says.  
  
Part of him wants to argue- He wants to make her feel good, doesn't want any of this to hurt, but with the look she's giving him, he knows that this is not an argument he has any chance of winning. He slides backwards off the bed, undoes his fly, and keeps his eyes on her as he pushes his pants down and steps out of them. She looks so beautiful, so fucking sexy, laying in his bed, legs spread and knees up, her chest heaving with deep breaths, hands still fisted in the sheets. He smiles as her eyes trace a line down his body, and he outright grins when she looks at his manhood and swallows.   
  
"Come here."   
  
Dean crawls towards her, kisses his way up her body, until he finally rests between her thighs, the head of his arousal pressed against her wet heat. He cups her face in both hands, and she does the same to him, kisses and licks at the wetness on his face, and Dean growls his hips pressing forward just a little. Pala gasps, shifts her hips up.   
  
"Are you ready?" he asks.   
  
"Yes. Dean, please..."   
  
Slowly, he sinks into her, inch by inch, until he's completely buried inside her heat. He watches her face for any signs of discomfort and finds none, and he kisses her slowly, eyes dropping closed as he moves slowly within her, his moans soft and low.   
  
"Baby. Baby, you feel so good."   
  
"Yeah?" she asks, and he opens his eyes, finds her staring up at him with a strange mix of emotion in her face.   
  
"Yes. Oh, Baby, yes."   
  
He claims her mouth then, almost devours it, grips a shoulder in his wide palm, and begins to move a little faster, a little harder, letting her own movements and sounds guide him. This is _it_ for him, and he knows he'll never be the same, not after _this_, not after _her_. He can't bring himself to say this out loud, so he loves her with his body, finding the rhythm she likes best, the one _they_ like best, lets the pleasure rise and rise and rise, _god he's never been so high before_. Her hands are everywhere, his face and his back, between his shoulders, gripping his ribs, and he reaches down to grip her thigh, his initials burning against his palm, and she is _his_, _all his_, and this is so different, this is not one night, this is, this _is_...  
  
"Dean...Oh, this feels so good...I'm..."   
  
"Are you gonna come for me, Baby?"   
  
"I...What?"   
  
He chuckles softly, kisses her cheek. "Just let go, Baby. Just let go. Let me feel you."   
  
"I...Oh. _Dean!_"  
  
Two seconds later, he feels when it crashes over her, the way she tightens around him, her whole body shaking, and she clings desperately to him, cries out his name, and holds him to her, brings them even tighter together, closer than should be possible, and he spills inside her with a growl. He tenses under her hands, riding out his pleasure for longer than he ever has, until he lets out a long, shaking breath, and lays his head on her shoulder, gasping for air, trembling with exertion.   
  
She wraps him up in her arms, smoothing down his hair, rubbing his back, and he lets himself relax under her touch, lifts his head to kiss her again and again, soft and sweet, gathering courage. Pressing up on his elbows, he brushes the hair out of her face, returns the smile she gives him.  
  
"Dean."   
  
"I love you."


	9. Eight

Now that they've made love, Pala can't imagine why she was so nervous about it in the first place. More than that, she can't get enough. Dean is so incredibly tender with her, and though she has witnessed him with more than one woman, she is still amazed by all the ways he knows how to love her body with his.   
  
He's patient with her, never rushing her into anything, gently encouraging her to try what she wants to, and she feels incredibly gratified by the sounds of pleasure that come from his mouth and the way he says her name when he's inside her. His green eyes turn so serious and dark sometimes, which always serves to arouse her further, pull him closer and beg him for more.   
  
Dean has a playful side, though, the green bright with mirth, the lines at the corners of his eyes prominent as he grins at her. There are so many sides to his lovemaking that she could never possibly count them all. But, Pala is more than happy to try.   
  
Over a week goes by in a happy routine of sex, research, and shooting practice. Pala wakes in the mornings to Dean's warm embrace and his lips against her skin, which more than once keeps her from an early run with Sam.   
  
This morning is no different. She comes to consciousness slowly, still half in a dream state, and she becomes aware of the quiet sounds of the bunker, the hum of the air conditioning, the beep of Sam's alarm from down the hall. She stretches in the circle of Dean's arms and feels as he wakes, tightening his hold on her and nuzzling the soft curve where her neck meets her shoulder.  
  
"You going with Sam?" he asks, voice a soft rumble, his hands slipping under her shirt.  
  
"Was thinking about it."   
  
"Mmm." His hands slide further up her body, across her stomach, until he palms her breast, squeezes gently before circling his fingers over her nipple. "Think I could convince you to stay here?"   
  
"I didn't go yesterday," replies Pala, but her answer is half-hearted at best. She takes his hand in her own and turns over to face him, kisses his knuckles, then touches his cheek. A smile tugs at the corners of her lips, and in the dim light of their room, she watches as Dean opens his eyes and smiles at her sleepily. "I should probably get up."   
  
Dean wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her to him, shifts his hips forward so she can feel his erection pressing into her belly.   
  
"You sure?" he asks, and Pala knows that if she really wants to, he'll let her go and just drift back to sleep for another hour or so.   
  
But, she doesn't really want to. She wants to stay here, like this, for a while longer.   
  
Pala slips her hand between their two bodies, then under the waistband of his boxers. Dean takes in a sharp breath as she wraps her fingers around him delicately, stroking slowly and gently, a little unsure of herself. She's touched him like this before, but only a few times, and still, she can't help thinking she's doing alright, if his face and sounds are anything to judge from.   
  
He kisses her, soft and sweet, still a little sleepy, and she continues her strokes, likes the way he thrusts into her hand as he presses his lips to hers time and time again.   
  
"Feels good, Baby," he mumbles, one large hand running over her hip, under the hem of the shirt she stole from him, caressing bare skin.   
  
Pala's tempted to shift, to part her legs so he can slip his fingers inside her, but as his fingertips trail over her thigh, there is something she suddenly wants to try. She removes her hand from his boxers, guides his hand away from her and then pushes him onto his back, gets to her knees and slides down his body, pulls his boxers off, and hovers above his hips, looks up at him curiously. Dean palms the back of her head, stroking her hair gently as he returns her gaze.  
  
"You don't have to," he says softly, reassurance in his voice, but she _wants_ to, and she thinks he wants her to as well.   
  
She takes him in her hand once more, then experimentally wraps her mouth around the head, licking the soft skin, flicks her eyes upward at the hiss Dean lets out. She knows a lot of his sounds, but this one is new- From the way he's looking at her, though, she thinks this is a good one.   
  
A little tentatively, she takes more of him into her mouth, still stroking the length of him, keeping her tongue against the underside. She can only take so much before she feels like she's about to choke, so she moves up to the head, then back down again, trying to emulate what she's only watched before, feeling a little insecure, until,   
  
"Pala- Baby, that feels so good." Dean groans a little, his fingers pressing into her scalp as his hips lift a little. "So good."   
  
She's not sure she believes him- But she's glad to hear it all the same, and his encouragement makes her bold, so she keeps going, traces figure eights against his length as she gets into a rhythm. Dean's breathing slowly grows ragged, his hips moving up to meet her in tightly controlled thrusts, and Pala finds that she likes this. She likes this _a lot_. The way he feels in her mouth, the way he sounds, the way he keeps his hand against her head so gently: _Yes_.   
  
"Pala, stop, come up here."   
  
She pulls away, looks up at him in confusion, but does as he's asked. His mouth crashes against hers roughly, and he takes her hand, places it on his arousal again, his fingers over hers, and he squeezes gently, moves both their hands up and down with quick movements.   
  
"I'm so fucking close," he growls, thrusting into both their hands. "Baby..."   
  
"Dean..."   
  
She tilts her head, kisses and licks at his pulse point, before suckling on it carefully, and is rewarded with a deep groan, his thrusting increasing a little, and she pulls away, takes in the sight of him, his eyes tightly shut, the full mouth open as he sucks in short, ragged breaths, and it amazes her that she can do this to him. She doesn't have nearly the vocabulary he does, doesn't always know what to say in moments like this, but she's learning, and so Pala bites his earlobe, then whispers,   
  
"Come for me, Dean?"   
  
"_Fuck, Baby._"   
  
Seconds later, she feels him spill onto her wrist, entire body shaking with exertion. After, he lets out a soft laugh.   
  
"I feel like a teenager," he tells her.   
  
"Why?"   
  
"Just do. It's a good thing." Dean touches a soft kiss to her forehead. "You're amazing. Give me a minute, and I'll return the favor."   
  
"You don't need to. I wanted to do this- You've done it for me several times, and..." She blushes at the thought. "You deserved it."   
  
Beneath the blankets, Dean uses the sheet to wipe away the mess they've made. "I don't deserve any of this, but thanks."   
  
Pala frowns. "What do you mean by that?"   
  
"Just that I'm lucky, and I know it," he says lightly, the last word catching on a yawn.   
  
She shakes her head, kisses him gently. "I'm going to go find Sam and go for a run. Go back to sleep. I'll see you after."   
  
"Be careful," says Dean without argument, eyes already closed, one of his hands still laying against her skin.   
  
Smiling, she replies, "I will, Dean." 

  
*

**  
Woman Beaten To Death In Home, Police Have No Suspects**  
  
_LeeAnn Wyman, 32, was the victim of a brutal attack Sunday afternoon while home alone. _

**  
Husband Charged With Wife's Murder, Claims Innocence**  
  
_Jim Willis, 35, has been charged with the murder of Pam Willis, 34, and has plead not guilty to the second degree murder charge. The wife was found dead in the couple's suburban home a week ago, severely beaten. _

**  
Still No Leads In Murder Case**  
  
_It's been three weeks since Jackie Gaines, 28, was murdered in her home in Smithsborough, Mississippi._

  
"Lot of wives dying in Smithsborough," Pala mutters.   
  
With a little digging, she finds several articles just like these, stretching back twenty years, and she's willing to bet, from watching John work cases backwards, that there are even more dating back before the internet's reach. There are more cases during the last five years, and in the last month and a half, four women have died in their home. Whatever is doing this is escalating. Pala frowns as she considers the options.   
  
"What's wrong, Pala?"   
  
It's Sam, and as she looks up, he's sitting across from her at the table. She turns the laptop around and pushes it towards him.   
  
"I think I found a case."   
  
As the younger Winchester reads through the newspaper articles, Pala stares off into space, wondering where the older one is. She smiles a little, wondering if he's still in bed, still tired from their early morning activities. It's not like Dean to sleep in so late, usually up long before now, but when she'd finished with her shower, he looked so peaceful in their bed that she couldn't bear to wake him.   
  
"I think you're right," says Sam. "Maybe a shifter- Looking like the husband, which would explain the lack of forced entry."   
  
"Could be. But, I think it's a spirit. The attacks stretch back so far, I think that's more likely. "  
  
"Won't know until we get there." Sam smiles at her. "You're coming, right?"   
  
"I'll have to talk to Dean about that."  
  
"I thought you guys already had that talk."   
  
"We did," Pala confirms, leaning back in her chair. "But only in theory. This is different. It's an actual job, not some future possibility." She sighs. "I don't want to upset him, but..."   
  
"We could use your help," offers Sam. "Really, we could. You know just as much as we do about this stuff."   
  
She smiles at his quiet enthusiasm. She has a good friend in Sam, and like Dean, she sometimes marvels at the man he's turned into.   
  
"Your father...I couldn't ever hear his thoughts, not the way I could with Dean, but he used to mumble spells under his breath, trying to memorize them. Exorcisms, invocations, that kind of stuff." She taps her temple. "It's all up here. I might know a little more than you do."   
  
Sam grins. "Then we definitely need your help on this."   
  
"That's what I'm hoping Dean will say. Do you know if he's up yet?"   
  
"Not sure. I'll see if I can't dig a little deeper while you talk to him." Sam pauses. "Let me know if you need backup. We're not leaving without you."   
  
Pala stands and walks around the table, leans down to wrap her arms around Sam's shoulders in a hug, happy when he reaches up to return it. She straightens without a word, then leaves in search of a conversation she hopes will end well.

  
*

  
Dean is bent over the engine of one of the cars the Men of Letters left behind, looking for the reason it won't start, but his mind is only partially on his task. He's thinking about Pala.   
  
He feels like a teenager, like he's discovering sex for the first time, like hope has a place in his world. It's unexplainable, the ways she makes him feel simply by being next to him. He's never wanted a woman so much in his life or in so many ways. To be so innocently in love is something Dean would have never guessed himself capable of.   
  
He likes this, the way he can hold her hand, work beside her, cook dinner with her. This isn't the kind of life he ever dreamed of, one where hunting and a relationship existed seamlessly and easily side by side. Baby understands who he is, maybe better than even he does, hasn't asked him to change, isn't threatened by his brother's importance because she loves Sam just as much as he does. For the first time, he feels…  
  
Honestly, he isn't sure what he feels, only that he likes it, even if he doesn't understand it. But he trusts in this feeling, and that in and of itself is something to marvel at.   
  
"Dean."   
  
He looks up, smiles as Pala walks down the steps to join him in front of the car, and he turns, wiping his hands on a rag as she comes to a stop.   
  
"Hey, Baby."   
  
She gestures to the car. "Should have known you'd be here," she says. "Figure it out yet?"   
  
He shakes his head. "Not yet."   
  
"You will." Pala glances over at the engine, then back to him. "You always kept me running."  
  
"Sam's job now," he teases. "How'd it go this morning?"   
  
"His legs are longer than mine, but I'm faster, so it works out fine." She pauses. "I found a case, Dean. Sam's looking into it now, a string of murders in Mississippi. I want to go with you."   
  
Dean frowns, sits against the car, and extends a hand to her, pulls her into the cradle of his thighs. She rests her hands on his legs, lets him rub her forearms as he thinks, not speaking as she stares into his eyes, green meeting steel.   
  
He's known this would happen, but he'd hoped they'd have a little longer before finding a job. The peace of the last week and a half is something he hates to give up, and still, he can feel it in his gut, the need to be back out in the world, doing what it is his family does best. He is a man who loves his work.   
  
But, he loves his woman more, and this makes him hesitant to take a job without knowing what it is first.   
  
"Any idea what's doing it?"   
  
"Sam thinks it might be a shifter, but I'm leaning toward vengeful spirit," says Pala, and he can hear the relief in her voice that he hasn't outright refused her request. "The attacks go back too far, I think, to be a shifter. But I could be wrong."   
  
Dean considers both options, thinks it a little strange that they've managed to pair those up together, but he trusts Sam and Pala, trusts their instincts, knows there are reasons they've each come up with their assessments. He sighs, squeezes her forearms, stroking his thumbs over her soft skin as he looks at the set of her shoulders. She's determined to come with them, probably just as determined as he is to keep her safe. Now that he has her, he doesn't think he could stand to lose her.   
  
"If something happened to you..."   
  
He doesn't bother to finish the sentence, doesn't have to. Her eyes soften, and she lays a hand on his shoulder.   
  
"I feel the same way," Baby tells him.   
  
And that's really where the trouble is, isn't it? Someone's going to have to back down, and the truth is, she can't give up the family business any more than he can.   
  
"We'll have to rent another car," Dean says at last, and Pala's face lights up at his quiet acquiesce.   
  
At least they know how to handle spirits and shifters. As far as a first hunt goes, this is as close to a milk run as Dean's going to get. 


	10. Nine

Pala shifts in the uncomfortable plastic chair, staring through the glass partition as she waits for Jim Willis to be escorted to the visiting area. She tries to ignore the conversations on either side of her: A lawyer advising his client, a wife telling her husband about their child's first steps and how she wishes he had been there to see it. There is logical efficiency to one side of her and emotional outpouring on the other, and she thinks this place is strangely a good representation of the human condition. A huge mish-mash of feeling and doing, of separation and togetherness. Things were simpler when she was only steel and vinyl, but she likes the potential humanity has to offer.  
  
Dean is waiting for her in the lobby, and though he hasn't said anything, she didn't miss the look of pride he gave her when she came up with a cover ID on her own. Jim Willis is the only husband who was home when his wife was killed, and she figures he may have seen something. She's posing as a psychic working with the FBI, and while she feels a little silly and far less official than Dean and Sam, with their fake badges and dark suits, she also likes the freedom her own fake identity provides her with.   
  
And Dean had given her two fake IDs before they left Kansas- One for this case, stating her name as Jennifer Morrow, and another, just for her. 

**  
DOB: 04/30/1978****  
**   
**Winchester ****  
**   
**Pala Samantha****  
****  
  
** Nineteen seventy-eight, the year John Winchester bought her, and she guesses the date might be the same, but she doesn't know for sure. Sam had been the one to take her picture, though he hadn't told her why when he'd asked if he could, and when Dean presented her with her identification, she'd stared at him until he'd rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably and stuttered through an explanation. That she'd put down "SS" as her middle name, so Samantha seemed the obvious choice because "it's basically a family name," and that "older chicks are hot," and she'd finally taken pity on him and kissed him.   
  
Dean tells her he loves her differently than most might.   
  
More than love, two plastic rectangles show her that this is permanent for him, this thing between the two of them. One with her name would have been love, but the fake one tells her that they're going to have a life together, work side by side like she wants.   
  
Even with her limited understanding of how relationships work, she still gets a little chuckle out of a fake ID being romantic. She knows it's not an engagement ring, but she doesn't mind. It means more in its own way.   
  
Jim Willis sits down in front of her, picks up the phone on his side, and Pala follows his lead. She smiles gently at him. There are dark circles under his eyes, the orange of his jumpsuit standing out harshly from his pale skin, and there's scruff on his face that tells her he usually stays clean shaven. He's tired, that much is obvious, and from the redness in his eyes, she guesses he's been doing some crying. He looks beaten. Not only did he lose his wife, but now the cops think he's the one who did it.   
  
"Hello, Mr. Willis," Pala begins. "My name is Jennifer. May I call you Jim?"   
  
"Yeah, sure." His voice is rough from lack of sleep, but his tone is polite, and she keeps smiling at him. "You a reporter?"   
  
"No, sir. I'm a psychic. I work with the FBI."   
  
He grins a little at that. "Feds use psychics?"   
  
"Sometimes," she tells him. "But not very often. We're investigating your wife's murder."   
  
His grin fades away immediately, and Pala hates that she had to bring it up, but she's here for one reason and one reason only, and that's to get information. Still, it's not in her to be completely removed from his pain. If she lost Dean…  
  
"I'm so sorry for your loss, Jim."   
  
"Yeah, I, uh...Thanks, Jennifer."  
  
She nods. "I know you didn't do it," Pala tells him. "But I'm having trouble figuring out who did."  
  
"Aren't you the psychic?"   
  
"It doesn't work like it does on tv."   
  
He nods, eyes assessing her, and she moves on quickly.   
  
"You were there. Did you see anything? Anyone? Anything...unexplainable." She takes a deep breath, looking for a reaction from him, and all she sees is more fatigue in his features. He's been over this before, she can tell, and he doesn't want to have to go through it again. "Jim...I know other people may not have believed you. But I'm not a cop, and I'm not your lawyer. I'm willing to believe almost anything."   
  
She keeps her voice soft, reaches out to touch the glass, because if she could, she'd take his hand in her own to try to offer him some comfort. His grief is writ into every line of his frame.  
  
"I've seen a lot of things, Jim. Things you can't imagine, or maybe things you couldn't before that night, but now...Now, you're wondering. I want to help you."   
  
He swallows, and she watches as his eyes fill up with tears, two spilling over as he blinks.   
  
"Them other women...They're trying to blame me for them too. Because the, uh, the method of killin' was the same. Exactly the same. But I didn't do it. I didn't hurt them. And I didn't kill my wife."   
  
"I know, Jim," she says. "But something happened that night, didn't it?"   
  
Guilt. That's the word she's looking for. There's guilt in his eyes.   
  
"We had a fight. It was stupid. Housework. Shit like that. She was saying how I didn't help her enough, which I...I didn't. I should have. Should have done more for her. Done the fucking dishes for her. She gave me two kids, and I couldn't scrub a goddamn pot for her."   
  
He chokes on it, and Pala hums in sympathy.   
  
"Jim, Pam loved you. Dishes or not. My...husband, he's not perfect, but I love him even when he makes me mad." She stumbles over the word husband, but keeps going. Now is not the time to contemplate what she should call Dean. "I'm sure Pam felt the same way about you."   
  
"I tried to save her. But, he wouldn't let me get near her after he- I was against the wall, you see, I couldn't move. I tried, but...All I could do was watch as he beat her to death. She was screamin' so loud, beggin' me to...to help her...And I couldn't. And after...I couldn't even call 911 until she was gone. He wouldn't let me loose."   
  
"Who, Jim?" asks Pala softly. "Who wouldn't let you loose?"  
  
"I don't know his name. I don't even know how he got in the house. He looked kinda...see through sometimes. Early forties, some gray hair. But, his clothes...He looked like something outta a western."   
  
Pala stifles the urge to sigh. Western. That means an older ghost. That means power. But all she says is, "Did he say anything, Jim?"   
  
Jim nods. "He said, '_You gotta show 'em who's boss or they walk all over you. I did this for you._' That's what he said. He looked liked he'd been in a fight- His face was all swollen and beat up, blood runnin' down the side of his head." Jim looks at her, tears running freely now, and she feels a sharp pain in her chest at the sight. "Do you...Do you think you can find him?"   
  
"I'll find him," she promises. "And I'll send him back where he belongs." 

  
*

  
"But, how's he travelling?" asks Sam. "Two hundred years old or not, he can't just be running around freely."   
  
Pala shrugs. "I don't know. But, I get the idea that he doesn't like women." She flinches as she looks down at the crime scene photos again. "Though, I suppose that's fairly obvious."   
  
Dean reaches over, lays a hand on her shoulder and gives it a soft squeeze. The photos are brutal, making even him a little queasy, but he's had more practice masking his reactions than his girlfriend has. These women died horrible deaths, the coroner reports citing mass trauma to their internal organs. They all died from a beating fueled by two centuries' worth of rage. Pala doesn't look up at his touch, just continues to stare at the battered faces of the ghost's victims, and he can imagine she sees herself in each of them.   
  
"Hey, you're gonna be okay. I won't let him hurt you."   
  
She shakes her head. "That's not what I'm worried about, Dean. I don't want anyone else to get hurt." There's a pause, then Pala finally meets his gaze. "And I don't want Jim to go to prison for murders he didn't commit."   
  
"I know. I said we'd figure something out, and we will. Lawboy over there will come up with a way to get Willis out of lockup."   
  
Sam rolls his eyes at Dean's nickname, but he assures Pala, "I won't let him end up in prison. But, first, we need to know who this ghost is and what to torch."  
  
"I think I know who he is," offers Pala. "I did some digging. Silas Whittaker. Buried in the old cemetery here in town. Should be an easy salt and burn, but I don't know how he's getting around."  
  
"How'd you-"   
  
"His wife had no children. It's possible that she was...like me. But I think it's more likely that he kept beating the life out of her. Literally."   
  
Dean stays silent at that, and Sam doesn't have a response either. Pala's inability to carry a child is something she doesn't talk about without prompting, usually, and the harshness in her tone isn't something they've heard from her before. Her steel eyes look just like that- Steel. She's determined to kill this thing.  
  
"She remarried about two months after his death. She married the town doctor," Pala continues. "He would have been the one cleaning her up after Silas hurt her. He could have easily helped her kill him and cover it up. She's buried in the same cemetery. Sarah Jones. She took the doctor's name. It wasn't unusual for women to remarry quickly after their husband's death. In fact, they often got married within a week or two. There just wasn't any other way for them to survive. The fact that she waited two months...It just seems like she was trying to avoid suspicion."   
  
"You got all of that from her lack of children and her marriage to a doctor?" asks Dean.   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Sammy, you're about to be replaced as head researcher."   
  
Pala giggles at that, and the air in the room gets considerably lighter.   
  
"You're boys. You don't look at things emotionally. I do."   
  
"Nah," says Dean, unwilling to let her downplay how good she is at this. "You're just smarter than us."   
  
Sam smiles. "Well, one of us."   
  
"Both of you," says Pala mildly, staring directly at Sam. "But, it's okay. I'll keep it to myself." She smiles at the younger Winchester. "It's still a while until dark, so do you think you could maybe..."   
  
"Yeah, I'll see what I can figure out about Willis's case, try and get that ball rolling." He frowns. "I still want to know how he's getting around town."   
  
"Aw, what does it matter, Sammy?" asks Dean. "We know where he's buried. We'll light him up, and he'll stop moving. We've seen weirder shit than ghosts who don't play by the rules."   
  
Sam shrugs."I guess. I'm heading out. Do you guys mind if I take the car?"   
  
"_No_," Dean and Pala say simultaneously with far more force than necessary.   
  
Sam rolls his eyes, but doesn't comment, just scoops up the keys to the rental car and walks out the door.   
  
Dean shakes his head. "Next time, I'm in charge of that. I'm sick of Toyotas."   
  
Pala nods. "We'll need to buy a new car. I don't want to ride around in that...thing. Not any more than I have to."   
  
"That's my girl."   
  
She smiles. "I called you my husband today. When I was talking to Jim. But, I guess that wasn't very accurate."   
  
Dean considers this. Husband. That's a word he never thought someone would call him. He's still getting used to the idea of a girlfriend, but he admits, what he has with Pala is what a lot of people only dream of. They have the real deal, and while it may be a little early, a little too soon to talk about finding a preacher, he guesses that that's where things will eventually lead.   
  
And he's good with that.   
  
"I know you already took my name, but maybe let me propose first, huh?"   
  
He grins at her, gets a laugh in return, and she shakes her head at him fondly.   
  
"That diner is right next door. I'm gonna go get us something to eat while we wait for Sam to get back. What do you want?"   
  
"Surprise me," he says, curling his hand around her cheek as she leans down to give him a fast kiss. "And be careful."  
  
He knows he likely doesn't have to worry, but the reflex is there all the same. She nods at him, strokes his hair lightly and then heads out the door. Dean shakes his head a little, because his life is a little surreal to him at times now. Pala is everything he could have wanted, and she wants him. She also started out as a car, so there's that.   
  
Dean groans, thinking about the car situation. Leave it to Sam to pick something economical.  
  
Opening his laptop, with the case almost concluded, Dean begins to search for a new car. He tries to reign himself in, tells himself he should look for something less flashy than the classics he favors, but that line of thinking ends as soon as he sees an endless line of ugly as shit cars that he would never want to call his own. He looks at Mustangs, but deems them impractical for three people to travel in, same with the Dodge Charger. Anything with two doors is out- Sam is never going to be able to fold himself into the backseat like that, and it won't be fair to have Pala stuck in the back all the time.   
  
He's narrowed his search by the time Pala gets back, and he smiles up at her as she drops the bags on the table next to his computer.   
  
"What are you looking at?" she asks.  
  
He extends an arm and shifts so she can sit in his lap, then wraps an arm around her waist, kisses her shoulder, his eyes back on the screen.   
  
"What do you think?"   
  
She doesn't answer right away, and Dean looks up at her to find her mouth set in a hard line, her eyes narrowed as she looks at the pictures in front of her. He bumps her shoulder with his head, squeezes her hip.   
  
"Are you kidding me?" she asks finally, the words forced and stretched with tension.   
  
"No," says Dean. "Why would I-"   
  
"Because I can't believe you would think this is okay. That's me!" she says, getting off his lap and to her feet, turning to stare at him, her face contorted with rage. She points at the computer accusingly. "That's me, Dean!"   
  
He looks back at his laptop where a nineteen sixty-seven Chevy Impala four door sedan for sale stares back, the curves and lines gleaming with fresh black paint. It's been fully restored. All he'll have to do is fork over the cash and forge the title, then it's his. Except that Pala is glaring at him, her temper barely restrained, and Dean can't figure out what he's done wrong this time.   
  
"Baby, that's not- You're you. That's just a car."  
  
"No, Dean. That's me. Or it was me, until this," she spits out, waving her hands at her body carelessly, "happened. Am I that easily replaced?"   
  
"What are you talking about?" asks Dean incredulously. "Of course not! How can you think that? I spent hours, _weeks_ fixing you when you were wrecked." He pauses, because really, having a former car as a girlfriend has strange repercussions. This conversation is one of them. "If you were easily replaced, why would I have worked so hard to keep you running?"   
  
"That's a great question, Dean," says Pala. "Why _did_ you work so hard? I thought it was because I was special. Because I was your Baby. But, if you can just buy another one of me, then I guess I'm not. You loved the steel. And that's that, isn't it?"   
  
"This is insane, Pala. You're..._you_, now. And it's not like I didn't have to order replacement parts when I-"   
  
"So, now I'm Franken-Impala?! What is _wrong with you_? How could you have possibly thought this would be okay? That I wouldn't- Do you really think I'd want to ride around in...myself? How weird would that be, Dean? How do you think I'm going to feel, watching you talk to it, run your hands over it, and- and _coo_ about how it's purring? That's...it's sick, Dean. It's really sick. And weird. And gross."   
  
"I think you're overreacting," Dean argues. "It's a _car_. It's not _you._ It's not my home. It's not-"  
  
"No. It's not. But, apparently, it's good enough." She shakes her head. "I can't believe you, Dean. I really can't."   
  
"You knew I was gonna have to buy a new car, Baby."   
  
"Don't 'Baby' me!" she hisses. "You have to buy a new car, not replace me!"   
  
"I'm not replacing-"   
  
The lights flicker, and the temperature drops about thirty degrees in two seconds.   
  
"We're not done yet," she tells Dean as Silas Whittaker appears in front of them, face bloody and mangled, angry eyes focused on Pala.   
  
Dean looks over to the door, where he knows he placed the salt line, and finds it's been broken, either by Sam or Pala when they walked out earlier. _Son of a bitch._  
  
Pala's anger at Dean seems to carry over to Silas, and before the ghost can move towards her, she's grabbed a salt packet from the takeout bag, ripped it open and thrown it directly onto him, causing him to disintegrate into pieces. In one fluid motion, she grabs another, resalts the door, and the temperature returns to normal seconds later.   
  
Pala glares at Dean. "Great," she says. "I'm his next target. And don't even try to keep me in this room, or I swear, I'll have Sam buy a Prius."   



	11. Ten

She's still not speaking to him.   
  
Dean has dug himself into a hole, Silas Whittaker's grave to be exact, and he feels like this is a pretty good summation of where he's at with his girlfriend right now. Pala has talked only to Sam since Silas's appearance in the hotel room. He can hear their soft   
murmurs from above him, and, as he throws another shovelful of dirt out, he wishes he knew exactly what they were talking about. Hopefully, not him.   
  
Pala won't talk to him, but she continues to look at him, each time with a different shade of emotion. Anger, hurt, more anger, exasperation. He never meant to upset her, but it's just a car. It's not _her_. It won't be the same, not in the way she seems to think. Just familiar.   
  
Maybe he was an idiot to think he could be a good boyfriend. He's in over his head.   
  
Actually, he literally is. He frowns, looks up and calls for Sam.   
  
"Dude, I'm seven feet deep. There's no casket. I'm standing in a friggin' hole in the ground for no reason."   
  
Sam frowns down at him, eyes narrowed with worry. "There's nothing?"   
  
"What, you think it's invisible or something?" Dean shakes his head. "There's nothing down here, man. Help me up," he says, tossing the shovel onto the grass above, then reaching for his brother's hand, struggling a little to get out of the grave and onto solid ground.   
  
Pala isn't looking at him, but at the tombstone, when she speaks. "They put up a grave marker," she says slowly. "I wonder if it was her or the doctor who actually did it. Beat him to death, I mean. They wouldn't have wanted anyone to see him like that, right? And for him to die in the middle of the night, no witnesses..."   


Sam nods. "You think they covered it up. Claimed he drowned or something, then put this up in memorial, buried him somewhere no one would find him."    


"That could be anywhere," says Dean. "Crap. I thought this was supposed to be an easy salt and burn."    


"You can do the research next time then," Pala bites out, and while she's obviously still pissed at him, Dean is glad she's talking to him again.    


"I didn't mean it like that, Pala."    


She sighs. "Sam, maybe we should figure out how he's travelling. That'll tell us what we need to burn. Hopefully, his body isn't scattered all over town."    


She shudders visibly at the thought, and Dean steps closer to her, intending to wrap an arm around her, but she steps away as he does. Sam looks between the two of them with a pained expression. Dean sighs.   


"Pala..."    


"Save it, Dean. Now is not the time. Let's get back to the hotel room before Silas decides to show up and beat me to death because I'm mad at you."   


She walks back to the Toyota, shotgun held up against her, and Dean sighs. He doesn't know how to make this one right, and he looks over at Sam helplessly, who merely shakes his head.    


"I get it, man. I do. It's just a car, but at the same time, it's not. I'm not taking sides in this one. You're on your own."    


Dean glares at him, but Sam holds up his hands in surrender.    


"Look, it's not that far to the hotel. I can walk back. I'll fill this in. Try to talk to her, Dean."    


Sam picks up the shovel and turns away, leaving Dean to stare after Pala as she slides into the driver's seat and turns the engine over.    


"Yeah, thanks. You sure, Sam?"    


"I'm sure that if you don't hurry up, she's gonna leave both our asses here."    


Dean figures that's true, so he walks quickly to the car and steps into the passenger seat, trying to ignore the tension between them as she puts the car into gear. He wants to make this right.    


"Pala, I'm sorry."    


She lets out a long breath. "I wish you knew why you were apologizing, Dean. I'm not ready to have this conversation yet."    


"Am I gonna have to sleep at the table tonight?" asks Dean. "Because if you want me to, I will."   


She's quiet, eyes focused on the road ahead of her as she drives the short way back to their room. It isn't until she puts the car in park and kills the engine that she speaks again, her hands resting on the wheel.    


"No. You don't have to sleep at the table. But stay on your side."    


Dean doesn't argue. He's probably luckier than he deserves, but he can't quite wrap his head around why this has to be such a big deal. He takes a chance, lays a hand over hers.    


"I was special to you, Dean. You could have sold me for scrap or bought a new car at any point in the last decade. But you didn't. I mattered to you. It made me feel...Like I was something you wanted. Something valuable. Precious. And to have you willing to just...I don't feel very valuable right now, Dean. I feel replaceable."    


She pulls her hand out from under his and gets out of the car, steps into their hotel room and closes it behind her, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts.

*

"What if he latched onto her?" asks Pala.    


It's early morning. Dean is still asleep. She and Sam are seated at the table, pouring over possible options, when she finally has something resembling an idea.    


"To her?" Sam clarifies. "Like her spirit?"    


"Or her stuff. I mean, she died about ten years after he did. Her and her new husband. They would have been his first victims, so maybe he followed her around, waiting until he got strong enough as a ghost. Besides, he would have still thought of anything that was hers as his, right? Possessive and all that?"    


Sam blinks. "You're a genius."    


She smiles. "No, I'm not. But thank you anyway." She looks around the room, frowning at it. "We're in the only hotel in town, and it doesn't have the same run of the mill stuff others one do, does it?"    


"No. It's nicer than what we're used to. Wait, you think  _ that's _ how he's getting around town? Antiques?"    


She shrugs. "Maybe."    


"We're never going to be able to track them all down," Sam says, his frustration clear.    


"We don't have another choice, unless you want to try to dig up the whole town looking for his bones. There's an antique shop a couple blocks from here. Wake Dean up, and I'll go get us some coffee."   


"You're still mad, aren't you?"    


"Very. But calmer, so I should be fine. I don't feel the need to scream at him anymore." She sighs, looks over to Dean's sleeping form, and frowns at the peaceful expression on his face. She feels anything but peaceful. She's hurt, and she's angry, and she doesn't know how to handle all the things pressing painfully against the inside of her chest. "Think you two can be ready to go in about twenty minutes?"   


Sam nods. "No problem."    


Pala heads to the front lobby, fills up three cups of coffee. Black with one sugar, for her. One cream and one sugar, for Sam. She pours the contents of four creamers and four sugar packets into Dean's cup, even though he takes his black, ignoring the fact that this is childish and rather reminiscent of the boys' prank wars. She doesn't care.    


_ Either he'll drink it or he won't _ , she thinks to herself as she secures the lid snugly atop the styrofoam cup.    


The temperature drops, and her attention moves from the coffee to the ghost that is suddenly standing right in front of her. Silas stares at her, one eye almost swollen shut.    


" _ You're next _ ," he tells her. " _ They won't even recognize you when I'm done. _ "    


"You won't even be here when I'm done," Pala hisses at him, her rage making her bold. There's no salt to be found, but she knows another way to get him away from her quickly, at least temporarily.   


The Sanskrit rolls off her tongue without a second thought, a dislocation spell she doesn't think Dean or Sam have ever learned, and he disappears in a burst of sparks. It won't hold him forever, but for now, he's wherever he is when he isn't brutally murdering women. Pala silently thanks John Winchester for his obsession and hurries back to her room before Silas can reappear, wondering what Dean's going to have to say about this, fairly certain it's only going to make their fight even worse.

*

Dean struggles to drink his coffee without making a face, and he wonders exactly how much girly crap Pala put in this. He'd be angry, but he figures he had it coming, and some part of him is pretty proud of her for it.    


As Pala relays the incident with Whittaker in the lobby, Dean's pride surges even higher, as does his concern.    


"He came after you?"    


"Most of the women were killed alone. And, um. I was making your coffee."    


Sam looks confused, but Dean snorts and salutes her with his cup.    


"Right. And you...You did what to him exactly?"    


"It's an old spell. John only used it once or twice, but he made sure he had it memorized. I'm surprised he never taught it to you. It gives you enough time to make a quick exit, if you need to. Not sure exactly what it does really, other than make them disappear, go wherever ghosts go when they're not killing people."    


Dean nods, takes another drink from his cup, then shakes his head. "I'm gonna go get some coffee, then me and Sam will head out, check that antique store here in town."    


"Don't you mean  _ we'll _ head out and check the antique store?"   


"You're not seriously still wanting to come, are you?"    


Pala folds her arms across her chest and gives him a thousand yard stare that tells him,  _ Yes, she is still wanting to come, thank you very damn much. _ Dean groans.    


"Baby-"    


"Don't."    


The word is clipped, short with annoyance, and Dean gets to his feet, suddenly every bit as agitated as her.    


"Pala, listen to me. This isn't about this thing between us, okay? You could get hurt. This ghost is gunning for you, and I'm not going to just let you walk into the line of fire. There's no reason to do that, not when me and Sam can do the leg work."    


"What are you going to do, Dean? Tie me to a chair? I'm not a car anymore, you can't put me in park and walk away. Go buy your new Impala. I'm sure it won't mind."    


"Are you seriously bringing that up now?"    


Sam stands up and grabs his jacket, clearly wanting to beat a hasty retreat away from this fight, but Pala stops him with a hand to his elbow as he moves to walk past her.    


"Sam, what do you think?"    


"I, uh." He sighs, looking back and forth between Dean and Pala, face looking a little helpless. "I think that this isn't really my business, but whatever we're gonna do, we should do it quick, before he finds a new target while he's waiting for Pala to come out. 

There are other rooms in the hotel, and we don't know if they have some of Sarah's stuff in them or not. He could just as easily start an electrical fire, Dean, smoke her out of this one to get to her."    


"So, you're on her side now?" asks Dean incredulously.    


"No, I'm on our side. I want to kill this ghost, and go home."    


Pala nods, clearly pleased, and Dean stares daggers at both of them.    


"I'm going to get coffee, and then I'll meet you at the car. Don't leave without me."    


Sam frowns. "Don't you have coffee?"    


"Ask Pala," Dean growls, pushing past them both, shutting the door behind him with far more force than necessary. 

*

The ride to the antique store is completely silent, and Pala can see Dean glaring at both her and Sam in the rearview mirror. She'd made it into the driver's seat before he got back with his coffee, and she gets the feeling that he had intended to drive, but wasn't actually willing to argue any more than they already have. There's a job to do. Everything else is going to have to wait.   
  
Pala is almost vibrating, her rage humming beneath her skin. She can't even believe Dean would suggest...Actually, she can. While that's not really the problem, it still makes her angrier than she was before. He agreed to let her come on this hunt. He has no right to keep her from it.   
  
The part of her that isn't boiling over with rage admits that he might have a point. Purposefully going look for things Silas will be attached to isn't the most intelligent thing she could do, but the way she's feeling, she isn't worried about the potential risk. She wants to kill Silas, make sure death is going to stick this time, and go home.   
  
She also wants to make things right with Dean, eventually, because she missed having his arms around her while she laid in bed last night. He would have held her, if she'd let him, but she was, is still, just too mad at Dean to let him.   
  
Pala wanders around the place, wishing she was an actual psychic, not just pretending to be one. Any of these things could belong to Sarah Jones. She sighs. There has to be some way…  
  
She feels the temperature shift, ever so slightly, and she bites her lip in worry. There isn't much time left. Whatever she did to Silas is wearing off. She heads to the front counter.   
  
"I'm really big into family history," Pala tells the owner. "Sarah Jones is a distant relative. Do you know if any of this belongs to her?"   
  
The owner smiles a little sadly. "Probably. But, I don't know who Sarah Jones is."   
  
"She lived here in the late eighteen hundreds. She was married to the town doctor after her first husband died? I haven't been able to learn very much about her, but I was hoping maybe I'd find one of her jewelry boxes or something she might have left a note in. Silly, I know, but family is..."   
  
"Oh, yes. It's very important. With it being so long ago, though...I mean, any of her things could have been sold multiple times." The owner stops, gives Pala a sympathetic look. "But, I have a catalogue in my office. I'd be happy to look for you."   
  
"Thank you."   
  
The owner disappears at the back, and Dean moves behind her, his knuckles brushing lightly against the small of her back.   
  
"You did a good job there."   
  
"Thanks," she says stiffly, moving away from his touch, even though she wants to sink back against him.   
  
"Pala, please..."   
  
"Later, Dean. There'll be time for it later."   
  
The temperature drops another several degrees, and Dean narrows his eyes.   
  
"We need to leave."   
  
"Let her find it first, Dean. It's not like I can't-"   
  
"You don't know that the spell will work a second time, Pala," growls Dean.   
  
"Dean..." Pala stops, her eyes growing wide as Silas appears behind him.   
  
Dean reacts quickly, turning to face the ghost, standing protectively between them.   
  
"Thanks for trying to help," Dean says sarcastically, "but I really have this under control."   
  
"_You'll thank me when I'm done,_" Silas hisses. "_She needs to learn her place._"  
  
"Her place is with me, not dead in the ground. Sam!"   
  
Dean's call for his brother instantly yields a reaction, and the younger Winchester appears a second later, instantly positioning himself in front of Pala.   
  
"Might want to get to that store owner, Sammy," Dean grits out, but the second the words leave his lips, both he and Sam are flung carelessly out of the way, and Pala is left standing face to face with a long dead man.   
  
Silas grins at her, his few remaining teeth covered with blood, and she flinches at the sight. He died painfully, this much is obvious, but she can't find any sympathy in her.   
  
"You beat her, didn't you?" asks Pala. "Over and over."  
  
"_She wouldn't listen. I never wanted to hurt her. She had to learn her place._"  
  
Pala narrows her eyes. "You think you're going to teach me mine?"   
  
"_Yes._"   
  
The store owner, still oblivious to the situation as she walks back to the front counter, says, "We have a few things of hers left, ma'am. There's a necklace over in Section D, and I'd be happy to- Oh my god."   
  
"Where's Section D?" calls Dean, and Pala glances over, finds him struggling to get up from the floor.   
  
"O-over by the door."   
  
Pala makes a desperate run for the section, but Silas grabs hold of her arm and jerks her back into place, his face only inches from hers, and his touch is cold on her skin.   
  
"_You're going to learn_," he says.   
  
The slap is so powerful that it causes her to drop when Silas lets go of his hold on her. She scuttles backwards, moving as quickly as she can, heart pounding as she searches desperately for the correct way to go. Sam is on his feet now, but they left the shotgun in the car, and silver bullets won't do anything to Silas. Still, he makes a desperate grab for the first thing he can lay his hands on, a long metal bar, slashes it through Silas's form, and by some luck, it's made of iron. The ghost disintegrates, which gives Pala time to get to her feet and make a desperate run toward the door, where the jewelry is displayed in the window.   
  
"Which one?" she calls back, and Dean's at her side moments later.   
  
"It's not gonna matter. There's tons of shit in here, all across town, we'll never-"   
  
"Would you _shut up_ and watch my back?" she snarls. "Which one?" she yells again, and the owner's voice is shaky, but clear.   
  
"The, the opal pendant!" the woman cries.   
  
Silas materializes in front of Pala, but disappears from sight when Dean steps in front of her again. She drops her head, looking through display, locating the correct necklace even as she hears Dean grunt in pain, a crash as he's thrown into something. Sam's voice is loud, a distraction she desperately needs, and she winces at the sound of the iron bar clattering to the floor, Sam's startled cry, followed by another crash, but by then, she's chanting, John Winchester's voice in her ear, smooth after the one hundredth repetition.  
  
When she looks up, Sarah Jones is in front of her.  
  
She's pretty, Pala thinks. Or, she was, before Silas came back for her. Long blonde hair, soft brown eyes, an oval shaped face. She's tall, taller than Pala would have thought, with a long-sleeved plain dress, torn and covered in blood, her face covered in bruises.   
  
"Silas is hurting women," says Pala. "Just like he hurt you. He's killing them. He wants to kill me. Help me, Sarah."   
  
The ghost turns to face her first husband, and Pala darts away from them, drops to her knees next to Dean and sits him up, checking his head for blood, making sure he's alive and breathing, and his eyes focus first on her, then together, they turn to watch the scene in front of them.   
  
Sarah looks predatory, Silas looks hateful, and the dead woman lets out a scream that forces every human in the place to cover their ears. The ghosts lock together, a tangle of limbs and screeches, a blur of motion and dark color, until flames engulf them.  
With one last cry, Silas disintegrates, and Sarah phases away seconds later.   
  
Pala lets out a breath of relief and sags against Dean, who wraps his arm around her and kisses the top of her head, pulls her in close to him.   
  
"You okay?" he asks.   
  
She nods against his chest, breathes deeply.   
  
"Sam, you okay?" Dean calls.   
  
"Yeah, I'm good."   
  
Pala giggles a little hysterically, but doesn't say anything, simply clings to Dean's shirt, because mad at him or not, he is steady and warm, and she needs him, despite everything else.   
  
"Pala, you sure you're okay?" Dean's voice is a mumble above her, and she nods again. Once more, he kisses the top of her head. "That was awesome. Where'd you learn that?"   
  
"Your father," she tells him. "It's an invocation. I was counting on her being angry enough to kill him. Again."   
  
"You angry enough to kill me?" he asks.   
  
"Not even close," she replies. "But I wouldn't push it."   
  
Dean's laugh is weak, and he shifts, gets them both to their feet, looks over to the store owner who is staring at them with wide eyes. He clears his throat, glances around the damage at the store.   
  
"I suggest you tell your insurance company a lie," he says.  
  
The woman nods, beyond speech, and Dean nods as well, then looks down at Pala. She smiles at him, exhausted by the earlier spike of adrenaline, still clinging to Dean's shirt. Her face is starting to hurt where Silas hit her, and she thinks she has bruises from her fall. But, she's alive, so is Dean, so is Sam, and that's really all she cares about.   
  
Dean says, "Alright. Good. Okay. Let's go home." 


	12. Eleven

Dean can't sleep.   
  
Pala is asleep, or at the least doing a good impression of it, turned away from him, as much space between them as the bed will allow. Dean is staring up at the ceiling, watching the shadows, thinking about the events of the last week. He knows there is no way he and Sam could have cracked this case on their own. Without Pala, he doesn't know how they would have brought down Whittaker.   
  
For all her post-hunt affection, once Pala calmed down and confirmed that he was alright, just a little banged up, the distance between them once more crept in. The ride back to Kansas was a largely silent one, even the music kept down low, and Dean had volunteered to return the rental car, called a cab to get him back to the bunker, walking the last two miles, because he needed the time to think. Silence is less so when it's just him, but with his brother and girlfriend, it's overwhelming.   
  
_I don't feel very valuable right now, Dean. I feel replaceable._  
  
And that, that is something he never meant to do. With their fight turned into the cold shoulder, Dean wishes he could explain how he came back to a sixty-seven Impala as a logical choice. Another Impala could never replace her, but it's a good size, he knows how to rig the trunk, knows exactly how to take care of it. It's familiar, close enough to right, and still, Dean knows, it's just far enough from it to be entirely wrong.   
  
There is no way for him to fully comprehend her feelings. He has never been a car, never turned human, but he knows that if she were to find someone else to be with... This isn't jealousy on her part, not exactly, but it's the closest emotion he has to compare it to.   
  
Dean glances over at Pala, the faint light from his alarm clock casting a soft glow on her skin, and he sighs quietly, then eases out of bed, careful not to wake her.   
  
He heads straight to the kitchen, clad only in faded sleep pants, bare feet making almost no sound as he makes his way across the tile floors, making coffee even though it's two in the morning, waiting patiently while the coffee pot hisses and bubbles. Leaned against the counters, he runs both hands through his hair and focuses his mind on their lack of car once again, gives serious consideration to buying a Toyota or Honda or something equally bland, just to show Pala that she _is _special. Armed with a mug of hot coffee and a sense of desperate determination, Dean goes to the library to sit in front of his laptop and try to figure things out.   
  
He loses track of time, and when Pala tells him good morning, he slides his eyes to the clock in the bottom of the screen. **7:15**, it reads. He looks up at her, finds her hair damp from the shower.   
  
"Good run this morning?" he asks.   
  
"Yes," she replies. "Have you slept at all?"   
  
"Not really."  
  
There's a long moment of silence, stretching between them, and it hurts Dean to see the awkwardness in her stance, how obvious it is that she can't decide if she wants to be around him or not. She gives him a stiff nod, turns to leave, but he can't watch her walk away again.   
  
"Baby- Pala, wait. Please."   
  
"What is it, Dean?"  
  
"Just...Wait." He sighs, trying to find the right words and failing, but he pushes on anyway. "I'm so sorry, Pala. I never meant to...You're not replaceable. You never could be. I just...I don't think of you as the Impala anymore, so...But, I get it. Or, I'm trying to. It was wrong. I shouldn't have, and if you still want Sam to buy a Prius-"   
  
She scoffs. "No."   
  
He laughs. "Come here, please. I think...If you don't like it, I'll find something else. We can look together if you want."   
  
She's hesitant, but she crosses the room and sits in the chair next to him, looks at his screen interestedly. Dean waits anxiously as Pala studies the Chevelle that's on screen.   
  
"The asking price is too much," he says, nervousness making him ramble. "But, I think I can get the guy down. It's a seventy-one, four doors so Sammy can get in the backseat easy. Needs a little work, mostly just cosmetic stuff, and I'll have to put a new trunk in it anyway, so that's not really a big deal. If you don't like it, though..."   
  
"Do you like it?" she asks quietly, looking over at him.   
  
"If you do. If you don't..."   
  
"I was prettier," says Pala, and then she smiles at him.   
  
He sags with relief and smiles back. "Yes. Yes, you were. But, there's only one of you. And this is better than a Prius, right?"   
  
She leans over, kisses him for the first time in almost a week, pulls away just enough to say, "Much better."   
  
Dean cups a hand around the back of her neck, stroking his thumb across her skin, presses his forehead against hers.   
  
"We good now?"   
  
"We're good now," she assures him. "Thank you."   
  
"Thank you for letting me off the hook."  
  
"You got yourself off it."   
  
"How 'bout that?" He kisses her, then leans back in his chair, keeps his hand curled possessively around the nape of her neck. "This mean I can call you Baby again?"   
  
She smiles, stands and tugs on his hand. "Come on. Come back to bed."   
  
Grinning, he follows her lead down the hall, tells her, "I am pretty tired."   
  
"Then I'll do all the work."   
  
"Not a chance."   
  
Dean shuts the bedroom door behind them with his foot, then pulls Pala flush against him and slams his mouth on hers, tangles his fingers in her hair, groaning when she wraps her arms around his neck, taking a few steps back, bringing him forward with her. Together, they land on the bed, Dean between Pala's legs, and he slides his lips across her cheek, down her neck, tugging her shirt over her head, happy to find no bra beneath it, and he dips his head, suckles on a nipple, likes the way she arches her back, presses against his face and moans deeply.   
  
"Dean," she says breathlessly. "Dean, I want you."   
  
He pulls away, shakes his head.   
  
"It's been too long. I want to- oomf!"   
  
Pala crushes their lips together, lifted up on her elbows, nails scratching his scalp lightly as she holds him in place.   
  
"I need you. I need you now, Dean."   
  
Dean pulls away, stares into her steel-colored eyes and knows there's never been a luckier man than him. He sits up on his knees, hooks his fingers the waistline of her shorts and panties and pulls them down her long legs, gets out of his pants, then leans forward, into the circle of her arms and kisses her, slower this time, sucking her bottom lip between his teeth. She lays down against the mattress, but Dean rolls over onto his back, brings her on top of him, runs his hands up her back to tangle his fingers in her curls again. His head drops back as she sinks onto his length, her breasts rubbing against his chest, and she kisses him as she moves above him.   
  
"I missed you, Baby," he tells her.   
  
"I missed you too, Dean."   
  
He gets into her rhythm easily, his hands running across every inch of her body, tracing over his initials on her thigh, hips moving in time with hers, thrusting deep inside her welcoming body. She feels amazing, and he lifts up a hand, brushes the hair out of her face.   
  
"I love you."   
  
"I love you too."   
  
He groans, squeezes her hips tight. "You feel so good."  
  
"So do you. Oh, Dean. I'm about to- I'm going to-"   
  
"I want you to." Dean drops his head back onto the pillow so he can watch her face, the way she looks as her pleasure heightens. "Come for me, Baby. Let it go. Let me feel you."   
  
"Dean, I- _Oh. Dean._"  
  
His name stretches for several syllables, and she sinks onto him when her orgasms ends, shaking a little in his arms. He kisses the top of her head, tenderly rubs her back.   
  
She says, "You didn't..."   
  
"It's okay," he says. "But, I think you're gonna need another shower."   
  
She laughs against his chest, lifts up on her forearms to look at him. "You're not giving up so easy, are you?"   
  
He smiles at her, raises his hand to her cheek, then rolls so he's on top of her, enjoying her squeal of surprise. Staring down at her, her cheeks flushed with exertion and amusement, Dean can't quite believe this is his life, that this woman is his.   
  
"Never," he says, voice rough with seriousness and emotion. "Never giving up on you."   
  
She smiles back, runs her hands up his sides to cup his shoulders, and leans up to give him a light kiss.  
  
"Good," she says. "But prove it."   
  
He's more than happy to oblige.

*

Ten o'clock that night finds Pala with a cue stick in her hands, bent over a pool table with Dean behind her, pressed against her backside as he shows her how to play. His heat seeps through her clothes, and she finds it hard to concentrate, though she's trying. It's fun, learning to play one of Dean's favorite games, especially when it requires him to get so close to teach her.   
  
Her shot misses the pocket, but just barely, and even though this is the third time in a row that she hasn't sunk the ball, she stands up and smiles at him.   
  
"Closer this time."   
  
"You're doing great, Baby," he tells her, then moves from behind her to line up his own shot, winks at her and misses. She shakes her head at how obvious is.   
  
"Are you trying to hustle me?"   
  
"Nope. Just wanted to teach you some more."   
  
Dean grins, and Pala grabs his shirt and pulls him in for a kiss.   
  
"I like that."   
  
He grabs his beer, takes a quick drink, then looks over at her own, which is almost completely full, sweating onto the table.   
  
"You don't like your beer," he observes. "You want me to get you something else?"   
  
"You're not going to make fun of me for drinking chick beer?"   
  
"You're a chick. You're allowed. Besides, no one likes beer the first time." He smiles, pecks a kiss to her forehead.   
  
"Not even you?"   
  
"Not even me."   
  
She smiles at him, pushes up on her toes to kiss him lightly on the lips, then drops back down. "I'm going to go to the bathroom. Back in a minute."   
  
He nods, waving a hand to get the waitress's attention, and Pala crosses the bar to the bathroom. The door closes behind her, and before she can look for an empty stall, she stops, because there's a woman leaning against the wall, her face dropped in one hand, crying.   
  
"Hey," says Pala, laying a hand on the woman's elbow. "Hey, are you alright?"   
  
"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm sorry. This is so embarrassing."   
  
When she looks up, Pala is struck by how blue her eyes are, how pretty she is, even with her face swollen and red.   
  
"It's not embarrassing. Everyone cries. What's your name?"   
  
"Trisha," she says. "My name is Trisha."   
  
"I'm Pala. It's nice to meet you."   
  
"Nice to meet you, Pala."   
  
Trisha lets out a soft sob, drops her face back into her palm.   
  
"Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"  
  
"It's just- My boyfriend. He broke up with me."   
  
"Oh. Oh, I'm so sorry."   
  
Pala squeezes Trisha's shoulder, gives it a gentle rub. She feels so bad for this woman. If Dean ever left her, she isn't sure what she would do. Hunt, for sure, but almost her whole life, what she can remember of it, Dean has been there.   
  
"Thanks. He just left me here. We had a fight." Trisha shakes her head. "We were together a long time."   
  
"I'm so sorry, Trisha. Are you going to be okay? Do you need a ride home?"   
  
Trisha lets out a soft laugh. "You just met me."   
  
"Oh. Well. I mean. If your boyfriend left you here..."   
  
"I'll call a cab, but thank you. You're really sweet." She shrugs out from under Pala's hand, walks to the sink, and looks in the mirror with a soft sigh. "I look awful."   
  
"Here, let me help."   
  
Pala pulls a few paper towels out of the holder, runs them under the water, then takes Trisha's chin in her hand, wipes the mascara off the woman's cheeks. Trisha smiles at her.   
  
"You're a nice person, Pala. That your man? The guy you're with?"   
  
Pala nods. "Yes. He's my...Well, my everything, really."   
  
"He feel the same about you?"   
  
"I...I haven't asked, but yes. He's a good man." She stops, smiles at Trisha. "You'll find one too. Your boyfriend is a real jerk if he just left you here. You deserve better than that."   
  
Trisha smiles back. "Thank you, Pala. I'm gonna get out of here, and I think you probably came in here for a reason. Hold onto that man. If he loves you like you love him, you're a very lucky girl."   
  
"The luckiest. You sure you don't need a ride home?"   
  
"I'm sure. Thanks again."   
  
"Sure."   
  
Pala gives the woman one last encouraging squeeze to the shoulder, like she's seen Dean do for Sam so many times, then turns to an empty stall. She finishes up in the bathroom quickly, washes her hands, and heads back to Dean who smiles at her in relief.   
  
"I was starting to get worried."   
  
"I feel like a real girl," she tells him. "I ran into a woman in the bathroom. She was crying, and we had a really nice conversation. That's what girls do, right? I've seen that happen in movies. Castiel and I watched a bunch while you were on that Screamer hunt."   
  
Dean eyes her curiously. "You've been a real girl, Pala."   
  
"Yeah, but...Now, I feel like one. I had a chick flick moment."   
  
He shakes his head, lets out a chuckle. "Alright then. She okay?"   
  
"Yeah, she's fine. Her boyfriend broke up with her and left her here."   
  
"She need a ride home?"   
  
"I asked, but she said she was going to call a cab. You're a good man, Dean Winchester. I told her you were my everything." She likes the way his eyes soften at what she just said, and she reaches around him for her drink, takes a sip of it, enjoying it far more than the beer she tried earlier. Pala smiles at him. "She asked if you felt the same."   
  
Dean wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulls her in close and kisses the top of her head. Pala sinks into his hug, wraps both of her arms around his middle.   
  
"What'd you tell her?"   
  
"That I hadn't asked, but yes." She looks up at him. "Was I right?"   
  
He smiles, tucks her hair behind her ear. "Yeah, Baby. You were right. You wanna get out of here?"   
  
"Nope. Teach me to play pool. Then take me home."   
  
Dean hands her pool cue, then steps behind her again, curls his hand around her hip and grips it tightly, kisses the back of her neck.   
  
"Whatever you want, Baby." 

*

In the morning, Pala wakes up late, not until Sam knocks on the door.   
  
"You coming, Pala?"   
  
"I'll catch up to you. Go on ahead."   
  
"See you out there."   
  
Pala kisses Dean's chest, once, twice, then again on his tattoo, and he tilts her chin up and kisses her lips, sloppy and sleepily.   
  
"I can't convince you to stay in bed?" he asks.   
  
"You need your rest," she tells him. "Got plans for you later."  
  
He sinks back down onto his pillow, lets her get out of bed without trying to pull her back in.  
  
"Love you, Baby."   
  
"I love you, Dean."   
  
She pulls on her running gear quickly, dressing in the dark so she doesn't wake Dean again, then walks out the front door, stretches, and starts at an easy pace. She'll catch up to Sam eventually; there's no hurry in her stride.   
  
She's about a mile from the bunker when she stops at the sight of a familiar face.   
  
"Trisha. Hey. What are you doing here?"   
  
Trisha smiles. "Looking for you. I wanted to thank you for last night. You are so sweet."   
  
Pala swallows, looks ahead for Sam and doesn't see him. She is alone on a deserted road with no weapons, though she's not sure why she suddenly feels like she needs them. Trisha's smile doesn't leave her face, but it changes somehow, and Pala doesn't like the difference.  
  
"How did you know that I would be here?"   
  
She doesn't answer Pala's question. 


	13. Twelve

Dean stretches in bed, then glances over at the clock, realizes that Pala should be back from her run soon, so he gets up and ambles into the shower, undressing quickly and stepping under the warm spray. He reaches blindly for the shampoo bottle, still not fully awake, washing his hair on autopilot as he waits for his girlfriend to join him. Sam probably won't be thrilled that the shower's already been claimed, but with the promise of a naked Pala, Dean can't bring himself to care all that much.   
  
For all that they made love for hours last night, Dean already aches to hold her again, slide inside her willing body and claim her as his over and over. He knows she'll be back soon, and he can't wait for her to join him. He wants to lick the water from the hollow of her collarbone, suck the droplets from her nipples, kiss it off her hipbones.   
  
One hand ahead braced in front of him on the shower wall, Dean strokes himself as he imagines it, the look on her face, the sounds she'll make, listening for the tell-tale squeak of the door that will alert him to Pala's presence so she doesn't walk in on him with his dick in his hand like a teenager. Each jerk gives him both some measure of relief and increases his frustration as he remembers the last time they showered together, her wet hair plastered to her neck as she dropped her head back while he knelt in front of her, his tongue drawing forth moans from her mouth as he licked and sucked her most sensitive spot, his fingers thrusting deep inside her.   
  
Dean grunts as his pleasure starts to build, trying to slow his pace; he wants to wait for Pala, but fuck, just the thought of her has him so close, like a damn kid. He's too far gone at this point, though, and he can't stop thinking about her, the way she moves when he's inside her, how she holds onto him so tightly, like she _needs_ him, like Dean Winchester is the only person in the world she'll ever need, and, fuck, _he needs her right now_, is what he's thinking when he finishes, spilling onto the ceramic floor, the spray of the shower washing away his mess.   
  
He sighs as he comes back to himself, wonders what's taking Pala so long, if she's taking a longer run than usual. He grabs the soap and washes up, and by the time he's done and wrapping a towel around his hips, she still hasn't appeared.   
  
Maybe she and Sam walked back so they could talk. Dean knows they're close, that Sam likes the stories Pala has about their parents. So does Dean, but it's hard for him to hear, hard for him to reconcile the man Pala first knew with the man who raised him, and it's hard to hear about Mom, period. He thinks Mom would be happy to know he found someone to spend his life with, a good woman to be with, even if their circumstances are...different. He chuckles a little as he gets dressed. Different is an understatement, but he's not complaining. He never thought he'd get to a point where he loved his life again, which is exactly what Pala's done for him.   
  
He grabs his phone off the charger and pads on bare feet into the kitchen, finds coffee already made, and frowns at the full pot, then shrugs. Sam and Pala must have come in while he was in the shower, one of them must have put on the coffee. He probably just missed Pala, and he sighs at the thought, considers going in search of her, but figures he'll just talk to her afterwards.   
  
Sipping cautiously at the hot coffee, he throws some bread in the toaster, grabs a napkin, then gets the butter out of the fridge. The oven clock catches his attention. **8:07**. Dean frowns. Usually Pala's long out of the shower by now, but he reminds himself that her run went long today. She's fine, and he's being ridiculous. She's with Sam. Dean knows his brother would never let anything happen to her.   
  
The phone rings, flashing a number he doesn't recognize, and Dean answers, despite the early hour.   
  
"This is Dean."   
  
"Hi, Dean. This is James Kenna, you emailed me about the Chevelle?"   
  
"Oh, yeah. Hey. Beautiful car."   
  
The conversation goes on longer than Dean expects- James isn't eager to part with this Chevelle. Dean is persistent though, takes his time with the negotiation, and eventually, Dean gives in to a higher price than he originally intended, feeling charitable. Pala gave this car her approval, and he doesn't want to chance not being able to find another one that she likes. It'll be a week long drive to and from Maine, where James lives, and while Dean doesn't relish the idea of another rented Toyota, he agrees easily enough. It might be fun to take a roadtrip, just him and Baby. The phone call ends pleasantly, and Sam walks in not long after.   
  
Dean grins at him. "Found us a new car. Seventy-one Chevelle, waiting on us in Maine."   
  
"Pala know about this?"   
  
"Showed it to her yesterday. Just heard from the guy. It's ours."   
  
Sam nods. "So, you two are good, right? I figured you were, when she didn't show this morning."  
  
Dean frowns. "What are you talking about? She left a few minutes after you did, couldn't have been far behind."   
  
"No, man. She never showed. I would have seen her at some point, we run the same path every morning, I'd have passed her on my way back if nothing else."   
  
The world narrows into a tunnel of panic, pushing both men to their feet, calling her name at the same time, gaining no answer in return.   
  
They split up to canvas the bunker. Dean struggles to not lose control of his fear as each room he checks turns up empty. She has to be here somewhere, he tells himself. She's okay. She has to be. She was just here this morning. They have to go to Maine, pick up a car, keep on with the family business. Baby can't be gone.   
  
But, when he arrives back in the kitchen, the hope in his brother's face fades the second Sam sees Pala isn't with him, Dean knows:   
  
Baby's gone.   
  
"Come on," says Dean, refusing to surrender to the panic rising up in his chest. "Show me where you run in the mornings." 

* 

Dean walks every mile of the path Sam and Pala take in the mornings twice, hoping to find anything. Eventually, he and Sam take opposite approaches, wondering if she maybe decided to go a different way this time, but this also doesn't yield any results, except that Dean is beginning to lose the battle against his worry. He doesn't know where she is, but he knows she didn't leave him, and that can only mean one thing.   
  
"Someone took her, Sam," he says in defeat, the afternoon sun beating down on him as they walk back to the bunker. "They took her because I'm a fucking Winchester. If she dies, it's on me."  
  
"No, Dean. It's _not_ your fault. Pala wouldn't want you to think like that."   
  
"Pala's not _here_. Because of me, because of who I am and what I do."   
  
"What _we_ do, Dean. The three of us. She's a Winchester too, or have you forgotten that? Look, we'll find her. I promise. She's gonna be okay, Dean. You have to believe that."   
  
"I don't have to believe anything," Dean says darkly. "All I know is, she's gone, and if I hadn't been so damn tired this morning, if I had convinced her to stay instead of go-"   
  
"Dean, blaming yourself isn't going to solve anything."   
  
Dean sighs, because he knows his brother is right. "Just- Call Cas, alright? Call...Call anyone who can help. I don't care how many favors we end up owing. I have to find her. I can't..."   
  
He stops at the door, looks at Sam helplessly. His brother lays a heavy hand on his shoulder and squeezes reassuringly.   
  
"I know, man. We'll get her back. I promise."   
  
Dean nods, doesn't argue, because he needs to believe in his brother's words, because if he speaks his voice will crack.   
  
Because he needs Baby to come home, and if he argues, he fears Whatever's listening will hear him and make his worst nightmare come true. 

*

Evening comes, and Castiel is on his way to Kansas, travelling by bus this time. Dean expects the former angel will arrive around midnight, so he has hours to kill and not nearly enough to do in them. He's called everyone in his contact list, Sam has done the same, and there's nothing anybody can do. Every hunter is up to their elbows in cases; no one has time to stop and drive to Kansas. Jody did say she'd try, and for that, Dean is appreciative. The reality is, though, they're on their own. Dean wishes Bobby was here; hell, he'd even take Dad's help right now, though he'd hear more than one lecture about how this is why hunters don't have attachments. Whatever- So long as he gets her back.   
  
Castiel immediately agreed to join them, and Dean is grateful for his friend's support, even if there's nothing Cas can do that Dean can't. An extra set of hands isn't something Dean can pass up right now. Hopefully, Cas will see something he and Sam missed.   
  
For now, he's leaned up against the wall of the garage, one leg stretched out in front of him in what used to be Pala's parking spot. He has no leads, nothing to go on, only the bare cold facts. Baby left the bunker this morning and didn't come back. No one disappears into thin air; people just stop looking for them.   
  
Dean is never going to stop, but he wishes he knew where to start.   
  
He sits like this for hours, staring at nothing, wracking his brain for any kind of idea, but there is almost nothing to work with. He should try to think about this logically, try to approach this like any other job, but it's not. It's more important. She's his Baby, and if he loses her…  
  
"Dean. I'm here."   
  
"Cas."   
  
"I'm so sorry, my friend."   
  
Castiel extends his hand, and Dean takes it, lets the man pull him to his feet, his limbs protesting the movement.   
  
"We'll find her," Cas says, voice steady and sure. "Where do we start?"   
  
"I wish I knew, man." Dean shakes his head, blinks back the tears forming in his eyes. "But, thanks for coming."   
  
"Of course, Dean. Pala is my friend. I wish I could be of more assistance, but whatever I can do, I will."   
  
Castiel's expression is serious, the blue eyes focused in a way Dean recognizes; it's the same look Cas got as an angel of Heaven, determined to do the right thing, no matter what the cost. It's comforting to see.   
  
"I know you will."   
  
"Come on, Dean. Show me what you have so far." 

*

Twenty-four hours later, Dean still hasn't slept. He can't. He's laid down in their bed twice, but the smell of her shampoo lingers on her pillow, and it keeps him awake, makes him too aware of the emptiness on her side of the bed.   
  
They still have nothing to go on.   
  
Castiel and Sam both tell him not to lose hope, but that's something they don't need to do. Dean clings to his hope like a desperate man. Baby is still alive; she's out there somewhere. If she weren't, he would feel it. Some part of him would recognize that absence.   
  
Or, maybe, he's just deluding himself, because the alternative is too much for him to bear.   
  
He's seated at the table in the library, organizing papers that don't need to be organized, finds another one of Pala's journals, lets himself get lost in her words for a little while. There isn't anything else for him to do.   
  
_This is more than I could have ever imagined. I always wondered what it would be like to touch, to kiss, but now that we've made love, I realize it's so much more than that. I could never hope to put into words how it feels when Dean's inside me, his arms wrapped around me. Everything is so much simpler when we're together like that; whatever else is going on fades away, and it is just us, just Dean and myself. _

_ We're going on a hunt tomorrow, my first one as a human. I'm nervous. If this goes badly, if I get hurt, I don't know what Dean will do. I don't want to fight with him about whether or not I should or should not be hunting. Hunters get injured, but somehow, I don't think Dean is going to see it that way.  _

_ Whatever happens, I just want my boys and I to come home safely.  
_

Dean wipes away the tears at the corners of his eyes, puts her journal down and pushes out from under the table. There's something to find. He'll just have to look again. 

* 

It's pain that wakes her.   
  
Every muscle is wrought with tension, sharp and unyielding, shooting down her neck and throughout her back, her legs tight and stiff, and Pala tries to shift, relieve some of the ache, but ropes cut into her wrists and ankles when she moves, burning her skin. She can't move forward, held fast by a rope across her chest. Her head is dropped forward, but it feels far too heavy to lift, her left eye pulsing with hot pain, helping her to remember the fight from before, the few blows that were traded before smoke, darkness, nothingness.   
  
Trisha had moved quick, could have easily killed Pala, but she didn't, and Pala knows this doesn't bode well for her. A smooth and polite voice speaks.   
  
"Wake up, Pala." 


	14. Thirteen

Pala pulls against her bonds, but it's futile, and she succeeds only in bruising her wrists and ankles in the process. She hears a sigh from in front of her. Her head hurts, but she pushes past the pain and lifts it to stare directly at Trisha. The other woman is dressed in the same outfit she wore in the bar, jeans and a nice shirt, hands in her pockets, her stance casual. The expression on her face would be almost kind, if the circumstances were different.   
  
"There you are. I was beginning to wonder if you'd sleep all day." Trisha smiles and steps forward, reaches a hand out, and Pala snaps at it reflexively, bringing forth another sigh from the other woman. "Really, Pala?"   
  
The slap is fast and hard, sending hot pinpricks of pain across Pala's cheek, and before she can do anything, Trisha is lifting thin chain over Pala's neck, the legos clinking together as the woman dangles them in the air between them.   
  
"That's all I wanted. Did you really have to make it so difficult?"   
  
Pala can't describe how it makes her feel, her necklace in Trisha's hand. It shouldn't be a concern, not really, not with everything else that's going on. Yet, her temper flares, bringing heat to her stinging face.   
  
"Give that back."   
  
"Oh, I will. To the original owners. These belonged to Sam and Dean, didn't they?" Trisha smiles again, and it makes Pala growl with irritation. _She won't stop smiling._   
  
The legos make soft sounds when Trisha lays them on a table, and Pala swallows hard when she sees what her necklace is laying next to. Her heart pounds in her chest, harder than it did when Silas Whittaker came for her, than when she first realized she was human, than the first time Dean put his hands on her and showed her what she'd wondered about for so many years.   
  
She's terrified.   
  
Determined not to show it, she looks straight into those cold blue eyes, so unlike Castiel's gentle ones, refuses to turn away.   
  
"What are you?"   
  
Trisha pulls a chair out from under the table, drags it directly in front of Pala. When she sits, their knees almost touch she's so close. She leans forward, arms resting on her thighs, and the smile never leaves her face as she returns Pala's gaze evenly.   
  
"Before I answer that, just let me look at you for a minute. You're very beautiful, you know. Strong jaw, but on the whole, your face has a very gentle appearance. Your eyes are quite lovely, strange color for a human, but I like them- Even if one's a bit swollen. I'm sorry about that. I had hoped to not damage your face at all."   
  
Pala feels uncomfortable under the scrutiny, shifts in her seat, wishes she could get out from under Trisha's stare. She has no retort, but she doesn't break eye contact as much as she wants to.   
  
"Oh well. Can't have everything, I suppose. To answer your question, Pala, I'm a witch. A very old one, the kind of witch these new age, middle class, desperate housewives like to think they are. Razor blades in the mouth? Parlor tricks. Smoke and mirrors." She sighs, leans back in her chair. "It's not easy, Pala, being as old as I am. It gets boring. The world doesn't change much, unfortunately. Same petty little wars over the same petty little differences. People falling in love and then falling right into hate over misunderstandings. Over and over, like a merry-go-round. I'm fond of those. You've never been on a carousel, have you, Pala?"   
  
"I haven't."   
  
"I guess you never will." Trisha leans forward once more. "I can't get over how beautiful you are, Pala. I truly can't."   
  
"You know I have a boyfriend, right? Dean Winchester. Likes to kill witches."   
  
The witch laughs. "Brave, too. I should have expected that. I know all about Dean Winchester, Pala."   
  
"Then you know he'll kill you for taking me." Pala pauses. "Unless you let me go. He'd be willing to make a trade. What do you want?"   
  
"You know something I've never understood? Why so many people like to give away their plans before they've been completed. I've seen a lot of movies, Pala. The bad guy, giving the rundown just before they get away with it, only to be thwarted by revealing how to defeat them. How stupid do you have to be? I'm not stupid, Pala."   
  
_That damn smile._  
  
"I tell you this, because I'm going to answer your question, Pala. I want you, and I have you. Whatever your precious Winchester does to me- It's of no consequence. I went into this venture because it was the first thing that got rid of my boredom in two centuries. I'm almost a thousand years old, Pala. If I die, I die- Not that I'm intending to, of course, but two hundred years is a long time to be bored. You were the first thing that peaked my interest since the eighteen-hundreds."   
  
"You met me in a bar bathroom," says Pala. "How could I possibly have gotten your attention so quickly?"   
  
"You're far more beautiful than you give yourself credit for. But, Pala, you didn't get my attention in the bathroom. You got it on the street."   
  
"The street?"   
  
"Yes. Gleaming black paint, shining steel, four tires...And a mind of your own."  
  
_Please stop smiling._  
  
"You were just this beautiful car, well-maintained for sure, but hopelessly out of date. But you could _think_. More than that, you could _feel_. You loved the men stepping out onto the curb, one more than the other. I was fascinated. You had given yourself a name."   
  
"How..."  
  
Pala doesn't even know what she's asking, not really. There are several questions inside her, and she'd give anything if she could split Trisha's lips with her fist, like she's seen Dean do to more than one person. The look on Trisha's face isn't smug, it's...serene. Whatever this witch has planned, it's already come to fruition, and that's the only reason Pala is being told any of this.   
  
Pala is already lost.   
  
"You're not the only one who can hear thoughts, Baby."   
  
"Don't call me that," she hisses automatically.   
  
"Right. That's Dean's name for you, isn't it?" Trisha nods. "Perhaps that is going too far. Regardless, I heard you. I was drawn to you. You were in Illinois at the time."   
  
"We haven't been in Illinois in months."   
  
"That's right. Your memory is amazing. So many things in that head of yours. Think a little harder, Pala. Tell me if you can remember when you were there."   
  
Pala reaches back in her mind, curious, and when she arrives at the conclusion, she feels defeat flood every one of her senses and drops Trisha's gaze at last.   
  
"About a month before I changed."   
  
"That's right!"   
  
"You did this. You're the reason I'm human. Not because Dean and I are..."   
  
There's a long pause, where Pala assumes Trisha is listening to what she doesn't say. She can't help herself, can't stop the train of memories leading back to those first few days as a human, to the long talks with Sam, to the conclusion they had both ultimately come to. That she and Dean were…  
  
"Soul mates? Oh, goodness. That's more romantic of a notion than I ever figured the Winchesters for."   
  
"Dean loves me." The words are insistent, but stretched thin, as she struggles to speak around the emotion in her throat. "I love him."   
  
"That's all true. I suppose it's a possibility. It would explain why you...are. Though, you began to come to life before he was born."   
  
Pala blinks away tears, stares at the concrete floor. "He's the reason John bought me. He was there."   
  
"How very...The Winchesters really have no respect for the natural order, do they? Look at me, Pala."   
  
She does as she's been bid, and _damn that smile._  
  
"I need you to understand something," says Trisha, standing up from her chair at last, pulling it behind her as she walks back to the table, lifts a hammer up. "Before we begin, what I want you to know is that the spell I use to change you is a complicated little number. It was conditional. You had to want to be human for it to work. It took you far longer to change than I expected, but that worked to my advantage. The three of you never even thought to look for a witch, because you changed so unexpectedly and so emotionally. Pala, will you answer me one simple question, please- Tell me: Do you believe in Dean Winchester?"   
  
"With everything I have."   
  
There's no hesitation in the words; they are pulled from her without a second's thought. Of all the things Pala knows and doesn't know, she believes in Dean, in his goodness, in his strength, in his ability.   
  
"That's good to know. We have that in common, you and I. I believe in him as well."   
  
"Why did you do this to me? To us?"   
  
"I'll answer your question in a moment, I promise. I asked mine for a reason. See, I'm glad you believe in him, because this will make this next part much more exciting for me. That spell I mentioned? I can reverse it. I can make you a car again, but so can you, Pala. If you want to change back, you can. At any point. If I were you, I'd do it now, because I have a lot of things on this table that will hurt if you're flesh and bone, not steel and glass. The thing is, I'm betting you won't. I've already told you that I'm going to send that necklace of yours to Dean, so he can find his way here to you. To save you. And he is going to find you in very poor condition, Pala."   
  
Trisha walks forward, hammer banging lightly against her thigh with each step, _still fucking smiling_.   
  
"Unless of course, you change yourself back. I'll explain to Dean if you choose to do that, why he's found his car instead of his girlfriend. But, I think he'll find a woman when he bursts through that door," she says, motioning behind her with the hammer's clawed end. "And I think he'll find a woman, because you believe in him _so much_ that you are willing to risk everything I'm about to put you through...You're willing to suffer to be with him again. You truly believe he can save you. But, he can't, Pala. I won't think less of you if you change back. I won't do it for you, though.   
  
"To answer your question, I did this at first because I was bored. Because I was curious about you, what you would be like as a human. I didn't have much of a plan at first, Pala. Then, I watched your mind on the few times you left that bunker, listened to Dean's as well. Heard when the two of you fell in love, so deeply, so truly, and well…  
  
"Pala, I'm doing this because I can. Because I'm evil, and I like to cause pain. Not the kind that I'm about to do to you, that's just a warm up. But the kind of pain Dean is going to feel when he loses you? That's the kind of stuff I live for."   
  
"He'll kill you."   
  
"Perhaps. But, I can die happy. I'll have brought down the Winchesters. Lucifer himself couldn't do that. All because of you- Because it may take him a few months or years, but eventually, Dean will die because of what I've done here. He'll get sloppy on a hunt, he'll drink himself to death, maybe he'll just use that pistol of his on himself. And then, little Sammy will follow not too much longer than that. In the end, Pala, you will be what destroyed the family you love so much. And you will die knowing that. That's the kind of pain I'm after."   
  
Pala refuses to let out the sob, so she bites her lip until she tastes copper, blinks away the tears, breathes in deeply through her nose. She has wondered, so many times since that first night, what she is. Human or car or something else entirely, but now, she thinks maybe she's just a woman in love with a man, because with the option in front of her to change back, she stays bound to a chair, staring almost certain death in the face.   
  
_Almost certain._   
  
"I can't wait to watch Dean wipe that smile off your face."   
  
But the smile only widens, and Trisha tugs playfully at Pala's ponytail.   
  
"I'm sure. One last thing," she says, twirling the hammer in her hand. "I get to call you whatever I want to from now on, Baby."   
  
_Pain_.

*

Fifty hours since Pala's been gone, Dean has slept for exactly four hours. He is red-eyed with exhaustion when there is a knock on the front door. His pistol is in his hand a second later, and he answers the door with it drawn, the courier's eyes widening.   
  
"Whoa, hey man. I just-"   
  
"How'd you get this address?"   
  
"You ever hear of don't shoot the messenger? Look, just, sign for this, I'll be on my way."   
  
_This_ is a small, nondescript, brown package. Dean's gaze is sharp and unrelenting, and Castiel speaks from behind him.   
  
"Dean, I don't think this man means you any harm. Put the gun down."   
  
"He knows where we live. No one knows this place even exists. How did he know where to find it?"   
  
"I wasn't there when the order was placed, alright? I just deliver. It's a service, kinda like UPS, but smaller, much smaller. Local only, for like, small businesses and shit. This is the farthest I've ever had to come out. I got lost three times trying to find it. Would you just sign- Look, you don't even have to do that. Just take the package, and I'll go."   
  
"Cas." Dean hands over his pistol, and Castiel takes it wordlessly.   
  
"I wouldn't move if I were you," the former angel says. "Dean isn't in a good mood."   
  
"Yeah, yeah. Sure. I'll stand still."   
  
"Make sure he is who he says he is. If you think he's lying, shoot him," Dean says, taking the package from the stranger's hand, pulls his knife out of his pocket to cut through the packing tape easily.  
  
"Shoot me? Dude, I'm just-"   
  
"Shut up."   
  
Dean opens the small brown box, finds Pala's necklace inside, and he grabs at it, stares hard at the legos, feels himself break a little. There's a note inside, and he pulls it out, finding an address in old fashioned script and a message beneath. 

** _Pala's waiting for you._ **


	15. Fourteen

It amazes Pala that she can think through the pain enough to describe it, catalogue it; the hours, _or is it days_, that Trisha's been working her way through the tools on the table, have been a lesson in human experience. Pain, thinks Pala, is white a lot of the time. Blinding white, though sometimes little black dots flash in front of her eyes. She longs for sleep, but Trisha is relentless, pushing her past her endurance, but never quite far enough to the point of unconsciousness.   
  
And always with that smile.   
  
The witch has spoken rarely, except to for a well placed comment here or there, reminding Pala that it is within her power to stop this at any time. Pala is the one torturing herself, Trisha tells her again and again.   
  
"I'm just your weapon of choice, Baby."   
  
It's the Baby that keeps her going, ironically enough. The reminder of Dean, the secure knowledge that he'll come, even if it is partnered with fear of what Trisha might do if the need to escape becomes strong enough. For all that she's claimed she's comfortable with dying, Pala doesn't know that she believes that.   
  
Dean will come for her like he's always come for Sam. He loves her as much as he loves his brother, and there is no doubt that he'll show up. She has come too far for it to end like this.   
  
Mortality isn't a concept she fully understands; she hasn't been human long enough. But pain- She understands that perfectly now.   
  
"I thought he'd be here by now, Baby," says Trisha. "Do you think I overestimated his affections for you?"   
  
"I think you underestimated Sam. Maybe you're not as smart as you think."   
  
She earns more dancing black dots for her trouble. 

*

Dean is glad when Sam doesn't try to convince him that going after Pala with only four hours of sleep to his name is a bad idea. It wouldn't have stopped him, but it makes things easier, makes them go faster. The only thing he can think about right now is getting his Baby safely back home. He can't let himself wonder about how she is, if she's okay, or the fact that they're likely walking into a trap. They arm themselves with everything, Castiel included for what little good it will do, and head out into the morning.   
  
Sam did convince him, however, to ride shotgun on the drive. Dean knows it's better if he's not behind the wheel right now; if he wrecked on the way, he would never forgive himself. As it is, he doesn't know if he'll ever move past not being there to protect her when she needed him.   
  
"What do you think took her?" asks Castiel.   
  
"Could be anything."   
  
That's the real problem. They're flying blind on this one, no idea what they're headed into. Could be a nest of vampires, a pack of werewolves, a demon, but as far as Dean's concerned, it doesn't really matter. He'll kill whatever took Pala, get her home, and that's the end of it.   
  
He hopes.   
  
"Sam, if..." Dean can't finish the thought; it hurts too goddamn much.   
  
"It's gonna be okay, man. We'll get her back. She'll be fine."   
  
And Dean, who is far beyond the ability to sleep, takes comfort from his brother's assurances, lets that be his form of rest before this fight, because this is all he can get. 

*

Trisha drags the chair across the floor again; Pala's head is dropped forward once more, her breaths deep and ragged. This time, Trisha seats herself beside Pala, lays a gentle hand on a bruised thigh. The other is broken- Even if she weren't bound, Pala could never hope to escape.   
  
"He should be here soon, and I really can't risk him walking in during the middle of all that unpleasantness. I want to tell you what's going to happen next, because you might miss some of it with your head down like that."   
  
Trisha squeezes hard, and Pala lets out a whimper that embarrasses her, but doesn't look up. This is better than watching the bitch continue to smile like a statue.   
  
"Dean, Sam, and that fallen angel are going to walk through the door that's in front of us. They'll talk, and then there will be a fight. I will attempt to escape. There's another door behind you, and it's not far. I should leave now, but I just...I have to see his face. You understand, don't you, Pala? Besides, I've already told you, I don't really plan to live through this. It's enough knowing what I've caused. Thank you for this."   
  
"Fuck. You."   
  
"You've been hanging around your boyfriend too much," Trisha chides gently. "After I escape or I die, they'll take you to a hospital. The doctors will try to save you, but all they'll do is buy you a few hours, maybe a day if you're lucky. Probably, they'll dose you with morphine, to make you more comfortable. The Winchesters and Castiel will try to find a way to save you that defies modern medicine. Dean will watch you die. You'll spend the end of your time here in a drugged up haze. I wonder, though...Do you think cars go to Heaven?"   
  
"I don't know," says Pala. "But I'm pretty sure you won't."   
  
Trisha's laugh is musical, unafraid and light-hearted. 

* 

It's always a fucking warehouse.   
  
They're cautious as they enter, Dean in front, Castiel in back, but as they wander through the empty, hollowed out halls, it becomes apparent that there's no trap here. Nothing and no one comes out at them, and there is an easily laid out trail for them to follow, leading them straight to the only door with light coming out from under it. Sam grasps the handle, and when Dean nods, his brother opens the door, and Dean steps under the arch, pistol raised.   
  
The sight of Pala almost makes him falter, but he holds his weapon steady, swallows down his emotions like Dad taught him. There's only one other person in the room, seated right next to his girlfriend, smiling at him like an old friend has walked in the room.   
  
"Hello, De-"   
  
She never finishes her sentence, because Dean fires two shots, one after the other, and the woman falls to the ground with two holes in her forehead.   
  
He crosses the room in three strides, tucking his pistol into the waistband of his jeans, against the small of his back and drops to his knees in front of Pala, cuts the ropes binding her ankles as Sam moves behind her. Dean lifts a hand to Pala's face, and she looks up at him with swollen red eyes, one black and purple, but the rest of her face is unmarked. The rest of her…  
  
"Baby, I'm here."   
  
"I knew you'd come," Pala says. "She thought you'd talk first."   
  
"Is there anyone else?"   
  
"Just the witch. The woman from the bar the other night. She said there's nothing you can do."  
  
Pala's arms drop limply to her sides as Sam releases her from her bonds.   
  
"Yeah, and she didn't realize I'd shoot her on sight. You're gonna be fine. Can you walk?"   
  
"No. My leg is broken."   
  
Dean raises up on his feet, tenderly scoops her up into his arms, hums his apologies when she whimpers in pain.   
  
"I've got you, Baby. I've got you."   
  
Sam is already at the door, but Castiel stands apart from them, and Dean looks at him irritatedly.  
  
"Cas, come on, we gotta go."   
  
"Go ahead without me. I want to have a look around. I'll meet you at the hospital."   
  
Dean walks out of the room and doesn't look back. 

*

She tries to stay awake on the drive to the hospital, she really does. Dean begs her to, fear coating his pleas, and she tries to keep her eyes open and on his face, but with his arms around her, comforting and warm and gentle, she loses the battle with her exhaustion several times. Wakes to frightened green eyes and a calloused palm on her cheek. Wakes again to bright lights rushing past her, unfamiliar faces above her. Wakes once more to a voice she doesn't know telling her to relax.   
  
Then, she dreams.   
  
"They'll talk, and then there will be a fight."  
  
Two shots before two words are spoken.   
  
"I will attempt to escape."  
  
She never got the chance.   
  
She was wrong about how it began; maybe she'll be wrong about how it ends.   
  
Sam driving, John in the front seat, Dean and herself in the back, but this isn't right, she can't be in two places at once, but she is inside herself, in Dean's arms, his body just as broken as hers as he begs her to stay awake, _stay awake for me, Baby._  
  
"Can't be that bad of a date."   
  
An old blanket, scratchy against new skin. Cold tile under her feet.   
  
Crash. Helpless.   
  
"More important than anything," says John Winchester, who then chants in Sanskrit, for reasons Pala doesn't understand.   
  
Is Dean's heart still beating?   
  
Is hers? 

*

Waiting rooms are cramped and too bright as a rule, but with too little sleep and too much emotion, Dean decides that they're hell on earth. He's been to Hell; he's qualified to judge.   
  
Castiel has yet to reappear, and Dean is too tired to worry about it. Sam sits next to him, his side pressed firmly against Dean's. Though he tries not to, Dean dozes off, wakes with his head on his brother's shoulder more than once as the hours pass, while doctors try to put his girlfriend back together. He doesn't remember his dreams, but he wakes thinking about Dad and the first time Pala was totaled, about the witch's smile before he put her down. Thinks about Pala watching a movie screen with rapt attention, stares at the wall, wonders if her heart is still beating, wonders what's wrong.   
  
Finally, he speaks, asks Sam, "Maybe I shouldn't have killed that bitch right off."   
  
"She needed to die," is the simple response.   
  
Hour three, Castiel finally shows up and stands before the brothers, a diary in his hands.  
  
"She turned Pala human," he says. "It looks like she destroyed whatever spell she used to do it, though I don't know why."   
  
"She turned Pala?" asks Dean. "But, I thought Pala..."   
  
"We all did," says Sam. "I'm sorry, Dean. I should have considered...I mean, I did, but there was no reason to think-"   
  
"She was very thorough, Sam. It's in her diary. It starts the first day she saw Pala. I didn't read all of it, simply looked through the pages. She was a madwoman, obsessed with Pala. Dean, no." Castiel takes a step back, holds the diary out of Dean's reach. "You don't need to read this. I brought it back for Sam, thought maybe he could find something useful in all of her ramblings. You need to rest. Pala will need you when she gets out of surgery, and you're no good to her like this."   
  
Dean slumps in his seat, rubs his face with his hands, unable to take in all the information at one time. Pala is all he can think about, and he doesn't have the energy to focus on a dead witch.   
  
"Sam, will you-"   
  
"Yeah, Dean. Of course. Cas is right. Get some sleep. Please. I'll wake you up when the doctor comes back."   
  
Dean nods, feels the weight of the last two days sink onto his shoulders and his eyelids, sleeps and dreams of shattered glass. 

*

She wakes in a fog, a repetitive beep in the background, and her vision swims when she opens her eyes.   
  
"Can you hear me, Mrs. Winchester?" asks a feminine voice.  
  
"Yes."   
  
It's a doctor, and she pushes through the thickness in her brain, makes herself wake up.   
  
"Dean? Is he-"   
  
"He's downstairs with one of the other surgeons. I'm surprised you're awake so quickly, we just got you settled a few minutes ago."   
  
"I...I need to see him. Need to tell him..."   
  
"He can come see you in a little bit, but if you're up to it, I need to talk to you first."   
  
"I'm up to it," says Pala, tries to sit up and cries out when her arm gives under her attempt to push herself upright.   
  
"Don't try to move," the doctor says kindly, but firmly, readjusting her position. "Your shoulder wasn't dislocated, but just barely, and you're still under the effects of the anesthesia. We have you on morphine-"   
  
"No morphine," Pala says, shakes her head as the doctor goes to speak and repeats herself. "No morphine. I don't want it. I can handle it."   
  
"I think you'll find that there's no reason-"   
  
"I said no morphine, and I meant it."   
  
The doctor sighs. "Let's start over, alright? I'm Doctor Bridges. I assisted with one of your surgeries. You've been under for a little under eight hours."  
  
Pala listens intently, though it's a struggle, as Bridges goes on to list numerous injuries, some she already knew about- _a broken femur, several ribs, a few fingers_\- and more she hadn't known enough to catalogue. Internal bleeding, Bridges tells Pala. She's dying. They've done all they can do.   
  
"I think going off the morphine is a mistake, Mrs. Winchester. It's going to put undue stress on an already failing body."   
  
"It's my body," Pala tells her.   
  
"Yes, and therefore it's your choice, but-"   
  
"No morphine."   
  
The doctor sighs. "Yes, Mrs. Winchester."   
  
"Can I see Dean now?"   
  
Bridges leaves the room, and Pala closes her eyes, tears running hot down her cheeks. The witch was wrong about the beginning. Dean didn't talk. The witch was wrong about the drugs, so she was wrong about the middle. She can still be wrong about the ending.   
  
Pala forces herself to believe this, because she is a Winchester, and no family has cheated Death more than her own.   
  
But, if the witch was right, Pala wants to be able to focus on Dean's face until the very last second.


	16. Fifteen

Dean watches as the anesthesia and morphine wear off, watches as Pala fights sleep. He begs her not to, tells her there's no reason to suffer, completely helpless when she continuously refuses. He manages to convince her to take ibuprofen, knows it won't even knock the edge off, but he can't let her hurt any more than she has to. She's being difficult, sleeping for only thirty minutes at a time, waking because of the pain, drifting into unconsciousness for the same reason. Her body can't handle what she's putting it through, what she's been put through, and he can't do anything but watch.   
  
Watch- And listen. Listen to Castiel explain that he's tried reaching other angels, but none of them will answer his call, eyes full of apology and sorrow, hesitant when he asks if he can speak to Pala, because only one person at a time is allowed in her room, and he doesn't want to take away from what Dean and Pala have left. Listen to Sam tell him that the witch did this for fun, for no reason other than to cause pain, that her endgame is exactly what's playing out before them now. Listen to the nurses ask him to try to convince Pala to take morphine. Listen to the doctors say words that he can't pronounce and offer up possible options that could leave her dead on the table or save her life. Listen to a grief counselor be told by Sam, "Stay away from my brother."   
  
Listen to Pala tell the doctors no. Listen to Pala relay her time with the witch, Trisha, and everything she was told. Listen to Pala ramble in her sleep about beginnings and ends and how "she was wrong, she could still be wrong." Listen to his own sighs when there is not a goddamn thing he can do to fix this.   
  
He hasn't given up yet.   
  
Sam hasn't either. He's in the hallway of the ICU every time Dean exits to find a cup of coffee during Pala's rare bouts of sleep, pouring over Trisha's diary, and Castiel is in and out, bringing back books for Sam to cross-reference with, all three men solidly ignoring the strange looks the hospital employees give them.   
  
Dean finds himself in the chapel, on his knees, hands crossed in front of him, head bowed.  
  
"Please, God," he prays. "I haven't asked you for anything in a long time, alright man? But, I'm begging you now, give me a way to save her. Don't let me lose Baby."   
  
He prays to the angels, but none of them appear.   
  
"Please, God. Don't take her from me. Joshua, if you're listening, God talks to you, could you please tell him I'll do whatever he wants, anything- Just. Please. I need her."   
  
He prays, but no one answers, so he stands and walks back to Pala's room, finds Castiel standing sentry at the door.   
  
"Sam's in there."   
  
Dean nods, pauses at the entryway. "Cas, is there anything you can think of, anything we could try-"   
  
"Unless you want to make a deal, there's nothing. And Dean, while I know you were once willing to go to Hell to save your brother, I don't think Pala is willing to be the reason you go back."   
  
Dean sighs. "What if I'm not willing to live without her?"   
  
"Dean..."   
  
"No, I mean it, Cas. What if I'm not?"  
  
"Then the witch wins. She wanted to destroy the Winchesters, and if you make a deal, that is exactly what will happen. I can't get you out this time, Dean, and there's no guarantee that Sam will be able to either. Pala will have to live with that guilt, Dean, and if you love her, you won't put her through that. You won't put Sam through that, not again. And I, for one, don't want to experience it either."   
  
Dean leans against the doorjamb, drops his head against his arm.   
  
"She changed everything, man. She changed me. And I can't...I know that it was that bitch who turned her, but Sam's theory...Can't they coincide together? Does it have to be one or the other? Maybe Trisha did change Pala into a human, but she did it because Pala was already...Pala. That's gotta mean something, right?"   
  
"It does mean something, Dean, but what, I don't know."   
  
Sam opens the door a beat later, his face almost as tired as Dean's, his eyes red.   
  
"She's asking for you," he says, and Dean nods, brushes past his brother without a word.   
  
Dean sinks into the chair next to her bed, takes her hand in both of his.   
  
"Hey, Baby."   
  
"Where were you?"   
  
"Asking for favors," he answers.   
  
"No deals," she says.   
  
He sighs. "I just had that conversation. No deals, Baby, I promise."   
  
"Do you think cars go to Heaven?" she asks, and Dean doesn't comment on the abrupt change of subject. She's been doing that a lot.   
  
"You're not going anywhere. I told you I was never gonna give up on you, and I meant it. Nobody's giving up here, okay? So you just gotta hold on for me, Baby."   
  
"You didn't answer my question."   
  
"Baby...You're not a car," he says. "You'll...When you die, which is not going to be now, you'll go to Heaven. I'll meet you there. I guess Sam will too."   
  
"Only soul mates share a Heaven."   
  
"That's kind of my point."   
  
"She turned me." Pala's eyes well up with tears, and Dean wipes them away when they spill over.  
  
"She also didn't completely discount our theory. You're special, Baby, always knew you were."   
  
She shakes her head, offers him a small smile. "You always were a sweet talker. Even when you were little. Used to flirt with Missouri when you were a toddler."   
  
His smile is just as small as hers, and he raises her hand to his lips, kisses the back of her knuckles, feels tears of his own slide down his cheeks.   
  
"Dean..."   
  
"Pala. Baby, don't give up yet. Please, I can't...I can't lose you too. Not after...Not like this, not at all. I need you, Baby."  
  
"I haven't given up," she tells him. "I can't, because I'm terrified."   
  
"Don't be scared. We'll find a way, we'll-"   
  
"She told me the reason we never suspected her is because she made it my choice. My decision to turn human. Told me this over and over, each time she cut into me or hit me. I could end it. It was always up to me, and she was right when she said I believed in you, which is why I wouldn't turn back. I still believe in you, Dean. I do, but I'm still terrified. I never was before."   
  
"You were never scared before?"   
  
"Not for myself. What does a car have to be scared for? I was scared you wouldn't make it back from a hunt, scared when Sammy came back from Hell and wasn't himself, but I was never scared of dying. I always had you, Dean. I always knew you would fix me. But, now, now you can't. And I'm scared." She squeezes his hand, her voice shaking with her tears. "But, I still believe in you, Dean."   
  
"Baby..." He leans over her, kisses her gently, a soft press of lips. "I believe in you too."   
  
"Dean..."   
  
The monitor shrieks. Flat line.   
  
The room is suddenly filled with activity, and Dean stands against the wall, watching horrified as a group of people work over his girlfriend, his wife, his soul mate, his Baby.   
  
It can't end like this.   
  
It doesn't. Her heart starts again, and the doctors usher him out of the room; Dean sinks into Sam's arms outside her room, clings to his brother's jacket, lets his little brother lower him into a chair while the doctors do their job, then speak to him in hushed tones, tell him she's alright for now, but a decision has to be made or this is going to start happening far more frequently. Sam waves them off, kneels in front of Dean.   
  
"What do you want to do?" he asks.   
  
Dean closes his eyes, bows his head, prays one more time, _God, give me a way to save her._  
  
And when he looks up again, he stares into his brother's eyes with a decision made.   
  
"This is what we're going to do," he begins.

*

It takes time to arrange, a few hours, and Dean spends that time with Pala, who sleeps more than she did at first, but she wakes easily enough after the nurse leaves to continue with her rounds.  
  
"Come on, Baby," he says. "Open your eyes."   
  
"Dean?"   
  
"Yeah, Baby. It's me. Come on, I need you to sit up, okay? I'll help you, come on."   
  
She grows more alert with every second, within a minute she's fully conscious, moving the way he asks her to, slipping out of her hospital gown, letting him pull the flannel shirt he gave her that first day onto her arms and button it, shifting as he pulls up a pair of his athletic shorts over the cast on her leg.   
  
"Dean, where are we going?"   
  
"Do you still believe in me?" he asks.   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Then trust me, okay?"   
  
She nods, lets him help her to her feet, and Dean slips an arm under a shoulder, takes on almost all of her weight as he half-carries her to the door, opening it cautiously, finds Castiel looking down the hall with a steady gaze.   
  
"Go now."   
  
Dean walks with her into the elevator, pushes the button for the ground floor, then waits anxiously, Pala trembling with exertion, held close to his side.   
  
"Just a little longer, Baby, I promise."   
  
She makes a quiet sound of agreement, and he holds her even tighter, lets out the breath he's been holding when they reach the ground floor without any stops. The front lobby is completely empty, so he lifts her into his arms and carries her across it, out the electronic front door that Castiel has unlocked and forced open.   
  
Dean carries her to the back corner of the parking lot, kneels down and gently lays her on the pavement, supporting her shoulders with one arm, grabs her hand with his, tries to smile through his tears and fails. She looks up with confused and trusting steel eyes, raises her hand to his cheek and he leans into her touch, kisses her palm.   
  
"Baby, you said you believed in me, and I need you to do that. I need you to change back."   
  
Her eyes widen, and she gasps, shakes her head. "No, Dean."  
  
"Yes, Baby. Listen to me. I can't- I can't help you when...When you're like this. I'm not a doctor, or a healer. I don't have a Reaper on a leash. I've got nothing. But, I've always fixed you before. I can do it again."   
  
"Dean, no. No, you don't know...I can't. Not after I've been human, not after I've been with you, kissed you..."   
  
"I know. I know, and I can't...I don't know how I'm gonna...But, you have to. Please, Baby."  
  
"Dean, I want to stay with you." Her words are choked by a sob. "Don't make me leave."   
  
"I'm not. I want you with me, and this...This is the only way." He takes a breath, forces himself to keep going. "Baby...You were my first love. I was just some dumbass kid, who didn't know shit about shit, but I knew you. I understood everything you ever said to me, what every sound meant, and I loved you. The best moments in my life- Sammy's first words, learning to drive, hearing my favorite song for the first time...All you, Baby.   
  
"And you were there during the worst ones, too. Drove me to make my deal so I didn't have to lose my little brother. Waited for me in Lisa's garage when I did. You've always been there for me, always held me together when I felt like I was falling apart.   
  
"Then, I woke up one morning, and you were in my bed, and it felt like the world had completely changed, but what I was too stupid to realize at the time was that it had changed for the better. You're it, Pala. And I don't care what that witch did, you're mine, and I'm yours, and I'm begging you not to leave me. I'm begging you to change back, so I can fix you again. I love you, Baby. I've always loved you, and now- Now you're everything, and I can't lose you. And, I don't know how I'm gonna...Without you there in my bed every morning from now on...But, I just...If you die in my arms, I'll still love you, but there's no hope, there's no chance and if you'll just...Baby, please. Please, I'm begging you to let me save you. I love you."   
  
He loses his voice then, can't say anything more, lets his tears fall, because he has nothing left.  
  
"Dean..." She brushes his cheek with the back of her knuckles. "I can hear you again. Don't be afraid, Dean. I love you."   
  
And his eyes shut, his arms heavy and tired, his shoulders bowed, and he keeps his eyes closed against whatever's happening in front of him, because while he might have begged for this, he can't watch.   
  
_I know I should thank you,_ he prays, _but I think you're cruel._  
  
His forehead is pressed against cool steel, and when he opens his eyes, there sits the Impala, wrecked and scratched, glass shattered, body dented, but there. Fixable. He looks over his shoulder to where Sam is backing up a wrecker, feels Castiel's hand land on his shoulder.   
  
Dean presses his palm against the Impala's broken door and whispers, "Let's go home, Baby." 


	17. Epilogue

He tries to keep his thoughts calm as he works.    


Pops out the dents one by one, takes out the transmission completely to fix it and put it back in, fixes the leaks, replaces the alternator. A new battery comes next. Sam helps him replace the windshields, but mostly, Dean works by himself, slow and steady, over the course of a couple weeks.   
  
He doesn't talk to her, not out loud, but he knows she can hear him anyway, so he tries not to let his pain spill over too much. Knows she isn't hurting anymore, but he's gentler with the restoration than he had been with the previous two, careful with his touch.   
Breaks down when he sees his initials and remembers what they tasted like. Sees the tiny green army man that saved the planet, remembers how she smiled when he kissed it.   
  
Pushes himself to keep going, legos against his chest, beneath his shirt.   
  
Stares at his reflection and wonders what she sees, how much she hears.   
  
_If_ she hears at all.   
  
She was so far gone by the time he got her to the pavement, so weak, and her heart had already stopped once. He doesn't know if when she changed, she passed. And, of course, she can't answer him, can't tell him, so he is left alone with his thoughts, but possibly not.   
  
He tries to sleep in their bed once, then starts sleeping in the backseat.   
  
Finds his shirt and shorts under the front seat, for reasons he can't even fathom.   
  
The license plate is relatively unscathed, and this, he has memories of too; it hurts to look at. Every goddamn part of him hurts, but he tries, _fuck, Baby, I'm trying so hard here_, to keep going without screaming.   
  
Eventually, he loses it, takes out his rage on one of the other cars in the garage, because he found his faith only to lose it, learned to believe in soul mates only to lose his, and the whole fucking thing is _just. not. fucking. Fair._  
  
Glass shatters on the ground, and he winces when he looks at it, sweeps it up, and continues on.  
  
Eventually, he finishes. New paint. New tires. Fully restored.   
  
Dean takes a shower, towels off, gets dressed in his shirt, _her_ shirt, and a faded pair of blue jeans, grabs a bottle of Jack Daniels from the fridge. Castiel and Sam have largely stayed out of his way, and he knows, they're still looking into Sam's theory. Dean doesn't need confirmation. It isn't a theory. It's his life, and the warmest part of it is now cold steel.   
  
He slips behind the wheel, unscrews the cap and takes a long pull from the bottle. It burns the whole way down.   
  
Wonders if he made a mistake.   
  
He pulls Pala's necklace over his head, drapes it over the rearview mirror, soft clinking of legos the only sound in the silence.   
  
"Baby, can you hear me?" he asks.   
  
She doesn't answer, and Dean doesn't know what he was hoping for. He lets out a sigh, runs his hand over the steering wheel lovingly, and leans back into the seat, takes another drink and sets the bottle down, closes his eyes.   
  
"Good night, Baby." 

**The End**


	18. Loose Connection

**Under the Hood: Loose Connection** **   
** _ Six months after Dean loses the woman he loves, he tries to move on. _

* * *

The girl in the passenger seat is chatty.   
  
Dean doesn't have to talk much, just nod and agree at the right times, which is unfortunate, because it lets his mind wander on the drive back to his hotel. When he'd gotten a separate room from Sam, this hadn't been his intention, he just wanted a night to himself, because he finds his brother's sympathetic looks a bit too much to take after six months. They were on this case for a week, and now that it's over, Dean couldn't take another night staring at the wallpaper, so he'd gotten in the Impala, drove to a bar, and that's where he found this girl. He's not sure he remembers her name, but she'd suggested they go back to his place, and for reasons he doesn't understand, he'd found himself leading her out to the car, trying to ignore the tight feeling of guilt in his stomach.   
  
Absently, he smoothes a palm over the steering wheel, trying not to think too much about who might be listening to this girl- _Melanie or Stephanie, something like that, he thinks_\- fill up the silence. It's been half a year since Pala, since his entire life changed, since he lost the woman he loves. He hasn't so much as looked at another since, and tonight isn't much of an exception, for all that Melanie/Stephanie Talks-Too-Much is sitting next to him, long blonde hair pulled up into a ponytail that she twirls around her fingers as she speaks. There's beer back at his hotel, along with a bottle of whiskey, and he figures if he drinks enough, he can lose himself in the alcohol long enough to do this and pretend he's moving on and not coming undone, pretend that he sleeps in his bedroom and not the backseat, pretend that he's alright and not the broken half of a whole.   
  
The blonde undoes her seatbelt, scoots next to him, lays her hand on his thigh and strokes gently.   
  
"You're kind of quiet, aren't you?" she asks.   
  
"Just a good listener."   
  
But no matter how much he listens, there's only silence. Not that he expects Pala to be able to talk back: She never could before when she was a car, and still, he hopes every day to hear her voice again.   
  
Every day, he breaks a little more when he doesn't.   
  
The hand on his thigh grows more bold, inching closer to his groin, and Dean doesn't try to stop it, but he doesn't encourage it like he would have in the past. That tight feeling in his stomach intensifies, and he blinks hard, because he misses Pala's touch, aches for it, aches for her. Thinks about the way she looked the first time she let him inside her, the last time, every time in between, and he keeps his eyes on the road, doesn't risk glancing at the girl by his side, feels himself grow hard as his mind remembers the sounds that Pala made when they were pressed together, skin on skin, no way to tell where he ended and she began. He'd give anything to have her back.   
  
And that's the thought in his head when the blonde's long fingers drift over his crotch. She giggles appreciatively.   
  
"I like your enthusiasm," she tells him.   
  
Dean thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can actually do this, if he has a few more drinks when he gets back to the hotel. Lose himself in this woman and forget that Pala's gone, just for a few hours, just to numb the pain, because each day is harder than the last, and he's not sure how much more he can take.   
  
That's when the engine stalls.   
  
It clicks and rumbles, dying with a muted clatter, and Dean eases to the shoulder of the road, shifts into park, and stares dumbfounded at the dash. He works obsessively to keep Baby in good condition.   
  
"I have Triple A," offers the girl.   
  
"Let me have a look under the hood," Dean replies, undoes his seatbelt, gets out of the car and from under her hand.   
  
He pulls the lever, leans over to grab a flashlight out of the glove compartment, then heads to the front of the car and lifts the hood, shines the light on the engine, more for Melanie/Stephanie's benefit than anything else. He's a good mechanic, and he's spent hours working on this car. Going through his mind for every possible reason a car will stall out, he knows there's no possible explanation for the sudden car trouble.   
  
Very, very softly, he says, "Baby, is that you?"   
  
Silence, but the knot in his stomach eases, and he grabs ahold of the steel to keep himself from falling when his knees go weak.   
  
_Baby. _  
  
He thinks he actually may have lost it. There has to be a real reason he's stranded on the side of the road. The passenger door squeaks open.  
  
"Everything okay?"   
  
"Yeah, I think so," he calls back. "Just give me a second."   
  
It shuts, and Dean lets out a shaky breath, closes his eyes. His throat closes, and he swallows down his emotion, won't let himself cry, lifts a hand to his shirt and grips the legos beneath, his knuckles turning white. He can't do this, and he doesn't need to.   
She already knows. But, he speaks anyway.  
  
"Baby, listen to me. If...Fuck. I… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You know that I- You can hear me, if this is you, you know that I..."   
  
He loses his voice for a second. _Miss you, need you, love you, all you. _  
  
"I'm gonna take her home, Pala. I swear. Then, I'm gonna go back to my hotel alone. I'm sorry, Baby. I didn't mean to hurt you. So, if...If this is you...Just let the engine start, okay? And if it's not...well, I guess it won't, and I'll know one way or another if I'm crazy or not."   
  
He laughs a little, despite himself, then lowers the hood, clicks off the flashlight, runs his hand lovingly along the car's side before getting back into the driver's seat, turns the key.   
  
The engine turns over, and he drops his head back against the seat, eyes closed.   
  
_Baby, I love you. _  
  
"What was wrong?"   
  
"Loose battery connection," Dean lies. "Where do you live?" 


	19. Speed

**Under the Hood: Speed** **   
** _ Dean can’t take it anymore, and Pala pays the price. _

* * *

Pala watches as Dean falls apart.  
  
Day by day, piece by piece, she sees and hears and feels him begin to unravel. He is close enough to touch, but too far for her to reach. This is torture, but she admits that at least this way she can still be with him, even if it hurts. He sleeps in her backseat each night, for the few hours he does sleep, and sometimes, she catches glimpses of his dreams, sees herself as she was for too short a time, held tightly in his arms. Dean cries out in his sleep often, and in his waking hours, he relives her last days over and over, trying to find a way he could have changed things. He researches ways to bring her back, finds nothing and grows frustrated.  
  
Pala tests her limits, tries to communicate with him, to let him know she would rather be here like this than without him at all. One time, she manages to stall out, but she never manages to do so again. She isn’t sure how she did it the first time, except that the sight of that blonde girl with her hands all over Dean…It hurt. She wouldn’t have held it against Dean, not knowing exactly how much he hurts, how much he loves her- She would never deny him any reprieve from his pain. But the idea of him touching that blonde stranger the way he used to touch her created an ache so real and awful, a hatred toward a girl she didn’t know and never would, and suddenly, she was stopped on the side of the road.  
  
She wants to be here, with Dean, with Sam, with her family. But it’s harder now, to wait in the garage for long hours, alone and with nothing to do except sit and stare at walls she has memorized. She misses books and movies and sex and showers: All the things humans take for granted as they pass their hours. She longs to feel Dean against her again, his skin on hers, but she would settle for the ability to dream. To simply shut off and lose herself, the way Dean does, even though she knows he can’t ever decide if he hates or loves the escape his sleeping hours bring him. Pala wishes she had the option.  
  
Everything has changed since she turned back. She is more aware than she ever was before, feels more human than steel, and with the knowledge that she has a soul, she feels displaced as an object. She once asked Dean what she was, and he told her she was Pala Winchester.  
  
Now, she is the Impala again, at least in the physical sense, and she feels trapped.  
  
Dean appears one afternoon, his thoughts so fast and disjointed at first that Pala can’t figure out what he’s thinking. Then, his mind becomes so focused on each task -_ten and two, brake pedal, accelerator, drive, left blinker_\- it’s easy for her to realize he’s trying to hide something from her. She wonders what, until he pulls in the drive of a used car lot, kills the ignition and bows his head.  
  
“I’m sorry, Baby,” he says softly. “I just can’t do it anymore.”  
  
_NO!__  
_   
She wants to scream, but of course, she can’t. Desperately, she tries to do something, anything to get his attention. Tries to flicker the dash lights, tries to start the engine, turn the radio on. Nothing happens, and the panic wells up inside her, but does not spill outside of her steel frame. Dean drops her necklace onto the seat, legos clattering before going still, and then disappears from view while Pala free falls into her pain and fear. _He won’t go through with it_, she tells herself. _He’s just had a bad day, he needs this, it’s okay. He loves me. He won’t really get rid of me.__  
_   
Dean returns with an older man in a cheap suit who barely manages to conceal his excitement when he lays his eyes on Pala who would recoil from him if it were possible. She stares at Dean, begging him to take them away from here, but he keeps his gaze turned away from her as the salesman starts to talk terms. She can hear Dean’s thoughts, apologies and guilt, but his voice is calm as he speaks. He barely haggles, doesn’t argue when Cheap Suit points out non-existent flaws and talks about depreciation of value. If she could, Pala would cry. Dean is giving her away almost.  
  
“What’d you have in mind?” asks the salesman.  
  
“What do you have that’s fast?”  
  
A list of muscle cars, but Dean shakes his head at each offer, until,  
  
“I’ve got a racing truck, but it doesn’t have a clean title.”  
  
“Neither does this one,” says Dean. “How much?”  
  
Pala listens as Dean argues a little more aggressively over the price of the truck, sees the concentration on his face. He still hasn’t looked at her. She can barely fight the desperation she feels as she pleads silently for him to turn his eyes to her. Surely, he won’t actually go through with this.  
  
“Let’s go sign the paperwork.”  
  
Those are the last words she hears him say. An hour later, she catches her last glimpse of him, across the asphalt, taking her key off his ring and getting into a truck with a dented bumper.  
  
Dean never so much as glances back at her.  
  
For the first time, Pala wishes she had died in Dean’s arms.

*

She sits at the car lot for six weeks. Her license plate is removed; the old army man is pried out of the ashtray. The legos go in a trash bag. Her windshield is covered with stickers, proclaiming her price. Once, she was priceless.  
  
She is rained on three times, which is almost a relief because it washes away the dust. Listlessly, she observes people passing by her, relieved when no one buys her. She belongs to someone else already.  
  
Until the day Roy Lyle appears.  
  
Pala has no say in anything, of course. Why would they ask a car if she wanted to go home with the man in front of her? She doesn’t. She doesn’t like,or trust him, but she has no choice. He turns the key and her traitorous engine roars to life. Their first stop is a liquor store. He opens the bottle in the front seat and drives them to his house, parks her in the driveway, and she tries to shut everything out. The peeling blue paint, the overgrown grass. This is not her home. She imagines Dean coming to rescue her, but he never shows.  
  
She hates Roy Lyle. He listens to Rush Limbaugh as he drives around drunk, leaves fast food wrappers in her floor board. A week after he buys her, he backs into a car at the grocery store and shatters her tail light.  
  
Pala is terrified each time he gets behind the wheel. There is absolutely nothing she can do but watch each near miss with increasing fear, finds herself grateful when she sees a large bag from the liquor store, because that means he probably won’t touch her for three days. A few times a month, he goes to a truck stop and women with hollow eyes crawl into the backseat with him, say his name in bored tones, not that he notices or cares. If she were able, Pala would vomit.  
  
It’s getting harder to start- She needs new oil, new spark plugs. It’s hard to stop too. Her brakes need to be replaced. Roy stops too hard, and she rattles now when he presses on the pedal, curses her for shaking, but doesn’t fix the problem. Her front windshield has a crack in it.  
  
She is falling apart, and she misses Dean’s attention, his careful driving and gentle hands.  
  
Roy backs into a pole, dents her bumper and scrapes her paint, leaving yellow scrapes on once smooth black. He spills liquor onto her seats and carpet. She wishes the radio would break, but it never does.  
  
She is left in the street one night, and someone hits the front of her, crumples the fender on the driver’s side. They don’t bother to leave a note. In the morning, Roy kicks her tire and screams his outrage, but doesn’t pay to have her fixed. Pala wonders if Dean would recognize her like this. If Sam would. Or, if they would simply see an Impala like the one they used to have, til it turned human and turned back and fucked everything up.  
  
Pala honestly can’t decide if she’s more afraid of death or of continuing like this.  
  
She gets her answer on a rainy night, when Roy ambles down his front porch steps and steps inside. He is drunk, breathing heavily, and it takes him three tries before he can get the key in the ignition. Whether she likes it or not, they’re going for a drive, and Pala wonders fearfully if this will be the last time. She doesn’t want to die. Not like this. Not with this disgusting drunken pig behind her wheel.  
  
Roy has no destination in mind. That becomes apparent rather quickly, and they end up on the highway, vodka dribbling down his chin, wiped off with the back of his wrist as he weaves in and out of traffic.  
  
_If we crash, will I go to Heaven? Or be trapped in a junkyard?__  
_   
She prays, because it is habit, because Dean used to, because she once was friends with an angel. She calls out to God and Castiel and Dean, to Lucifer and Crowley, to anyone who might be able or willing to save her from this man.  
  
But no one comes.  
  
She sees the patch of ice on the bridge, and Roy never does. He screams and shuts his eyes as they go flying over, and she wishes she had the same luxury, cursing his name, then thinks of Dean and forgives him as the water rises up to meet her.  
  
Her engines comes to life, and she starts so suddenly that she immediately stalls out.  
  
“Baby?” asks Dean, surprised. Then, a soft and incredulous laugh. “Were you…asleep?”  
  
He turns the key again, pats her dash as the engine turns over smoothly.   
  
“Morning, Baby,” he says.  
  
The rest stays in his mind- _does she need a new battery, could she really have been asleep, is she okay_\- but his thoughts are ones of care and love and devotion, and Pala wraps them around her like a warm blanket, like they’re his arms, as Dean pops an old Metallica cassette into the tape deck.  
  
Now, she knows why Dean sometimes wishes he couldn’t dream.


	20. Slick

**Under the Hood: Slick**   
“ _ … he remembers the last time they showered together, her wet hair plastered to her neck as she dropped her head back as he knelt in front of her…”  _ _   
_ _ As referenced to in Chapter Twelve, set during the missing week between chapters seven and eight. _

* * *

Dean wakes up late, barely remembering Pala creeping out of bed for her run with Sam. He stretches, then sits up, a few joints protesting, and gets to his feet, shuffles through the dark until he reaches the door. He makes his way quietly down the hall, smiles at the sound of the shower, knocks lightly on the door.   


“It’s me,” he says.   


“Come in,” Pala replies.   


Dean steps inside, the bathroom thick with steam as he closes the door behind him and shucks off his sleep pants. Seconds later, he’s stepping in behind Pala, wrapping his arms around her waist and laying a soft kiss to the spot where her neck meets her  shoulder.   


“Good morning.”   


“Good morning to you too,” she says and leans back against him, tilting her head up to smile at him. “Sleep okay?”  
  
“Mhm.” He nuzzles her neck, laces his fingers over her belly, pulls her tighter against him. “How was your run?”  
  
“Tiring. I actually just got back, we went longer than usual today.”  
  
Dean brushes her hair over her shoulder, hums against the nape of her neck, lips brushing over her soft skin. Her hands rest over his own, fingers stroking his knuckles.  
  
“Sam keeping up with you okay?” he teases, loves the sound of her laughter.  
  
“Believe it or not, yes. Sixty miles an hour, even.”  
  
Dean chuckles, leans forward to kiss her temple, then presses their cheeks together, closing his eyes so he can just live in this moment for a while. Where it’s him and Pala, and warmth, soft skin against his scars, the way he can feel her breathing in time with him. She lets out a contented sigh, and Dean kisses the corner of her mouth.  
  
“Love you, Baby,” he mumbles softly, feels her smile, and then she turns around, breasts skimming against his chest.  
  
“I love you, Dean.”  
  
He tucks her hair behind her ear, then leans in to kiss her fully, resting his hand on the small of her back and drawing her to him, suddenly hard, arousal pressed against her hip. Dean has never wanted a woman the way he wants this one, never thought he could.  
  
He turns them, presses her against the wall, and dips his head, licking the water off her neck, fingers trailing over her wet hair down her side to her hip, keeping her where he wants her. Pala holds onto his arms, legs parting around one of his thighs, and Dean can still taste the barest amount of sweat when flicks his tongue into the hollows of her collarbones, biting down gently one one, sucking just hard enough to leave the faintest hint of a bruise. _You are mine_.  
  
Cupping her breast, he bends to trap the nipple between his teeth, tongue catching all the droplets from it before moving to the other, kissing his way back and then again, before lowering himself to his knees, licking his way down Baby’s stomach, both hands holding her hips against the tile, her hands on his shoulders, thumbs stroking his water slick skin. He kisses her hips, bites down, leaves behind another small purple mark, licks away the hurt when Pala gasps, then looks up at her, finds warm steel gazing down at him.  
  
He runs his hands down her thighs, massages the muscles, then lifts her ankle up, thumbs the army man it bears, presses a fast kiss before letting her foot touch down again.  
  
“Dean…”  
  
“I love touching you,” he tells her. “Love kissing you, love everything.”  
  
He touches his lips to her mound, then slides his hand up her thigh, finds her ready for him already and easily pushes two fingers inside her, wraps his hand around himself and squeezes when she moans.  
  
“_Oh,_” says Pala, eyes closing on a sigh, head dropping back.  
  
Dean shifts forward, slips his tongue between her lips and finds her clit, moves back and forth as he pumps his fingers, makes circles around that sensitive spot. His free hand is back on her hip, fingertips pressing into her skin, and Pala moans again, nails biting into his shoulders, body tense. He pulls back, long enough to tell her,  
  
“It’s okay, Baby. I won’t let you fall.”  
  
And then finds her clit with his tongue again, fingers surrounded by her tight heat. This is one of his favorite things ever, her scent, her taste, the sounds she makes… Everything. Dean loves every part of this. She tastes so damn good, feels amazing wrapped around his fingers, and he wants more. He sucks carefully on her clit, feels her start to tighten up, and he keeps going, want to feel her come like this, glances up so he can see her face, see her breasts heave with every shaking breath she takes.  
  
“Dean. _OhgodDean._”  
  
He drags it out as long as he can, wanting her to come as many times as he can make her, til she’s pushing him away, pulling him up to his feet. She drags him in for a kiss, a hand palming the back,to his neck, gripping his side to bring their bodies together, his manhood trapped between them. Baby holds onto him, like she never wants to let go, and he never wants her to, never wants a day that she’s not there with him.  
  
Dean has to force himself to step back. He traces a line from her cheek to her throat, then turns her around, leans in close to kiss the back of her neck again. He pulls Pala back by her thighs, runs his hand up her spine to lay possessively against her neck, then eases himself into her, until they are as close as they can be, pressing his chest to her back so he can kiss her, slow and sweet.  
  
“Need you,” she says.  
  
He rocks into her, steady and careful, mindful of the precarious position they’re in. The shower is still going, water rushing over their legs, and everything is warm and good and every kind of perfect Dean never believed in. He grabs her hands with his own, placed above their heads against porcelain, thrusting shallowly to stay as deep as he can.  
  
“You feel so good,” says Dean, kissing every piece of her that he can. “So damn good, Baby.”  
  
She moans in response, moving with him, their rhythm easy as anything else, bringing them both high, and Dean can feel his need rising. Pala is so tight, and they fit together like they were made for this give and take. He groans, licks water off her shoulder.  
  
“I’m gonna-”  
  
“Oh, Dean, please,” she says, voice low and almost desperate. “Please, I want you to-”  
  
Her word is cut off with a sharp cry of pleasure, and he groans, squeezing her hands as he spills into her.  
  
“Baby,” he says, feeling almost dizzy. “Baby.”  
  
She sighs, shifts back against him, and he groans again, lays his cheek against her shoulder. He wishes he had words for this.  
  
“Me too,” Pala says simply.  
  
He pushes her hips forward, leans over to shut off the water’s spray. She frowns.  
  
“I didn’t wash my hair yet.”  
  
“Later.”  
  
Dean pulls open the curtain and steps out of the shower, grabs a towel, then wraps it around her. She joins him on the bathroom floor, feet barely steady before he lifts her up, catching her by surprise.  
  
“Don’t you need a towel?” she asks, giggling and pressing a kiss to his shoulder.  
  
“Nope. Hope Sammy’s in his room though.”  
  
She laughs, holding onto him, head tucked against his chest, and he carries her to bed, slides in after her, pulling the sheets over both of them. They’re facing each other, legs tangled, and he kisses her forehead tenderly, draws her into his arms, content to let today wait a little longer to start as she snuggles next to him.  
  
Dean has everything he needs here in this bed.


	21. At First Sight

**Under the Hood: At First Sight**   
_ Pala has a lot of memories. _ _   
_ _ Set during the missing week between chapters seven and eight. _

* * *

Morning comes too early for Pala, who enjoys her runs with Sam but finds it hard to leave Dean’s side, his sleepy sweet rumbles and hugs an easy lure to keep her in bed, rushing after the younger Winchester some minutes later, sometimes not at all. Today, she manages to catch up to Sam quickly, Dean too tired to protest as much as usual, and they run in comfortable silence, both their breathing and feet in time-  _ In, out, right, left. _ _   
_

They slow to a walk on the way back to the bunker, as they often do. Sam doesn’t ask many questions, but Pala has decades of practicing reading Sam’s expression since she could never read his mind like she could Dean’s, and she tells him one of her favorite stories about John and Mary, tries to disguise her smile at Sam’s visible reaction.   


“You should tell this to Dean,” he says as he opens the door for her. “I doubt he’s ever heard this.”  
  
Pala agrees with his assessment. John would have been the only one who could have, and the man the boys’ father became wasn’t one for telling these kinds of stories. She doesn’t know, however, that she should tell Dean- He worshiped his father at one point, but in later years, that worship has changed into something darker at times. Bringing up John Winchester is always a risk with either brother, and Pala isn’t sure that’s a risk she’s willing to take, not when things have just smoothed out between the two of them.  
  
Dean’s waiting for her in the kitchen, and she smiles at him as she sinks onto the table bench, legs a little wobbly from the exercise; keeping up with Sam isn’t easy, but it’s doable if she pushes herself. His lips quirk up a little, and he pulls out the coffee pot and pours her a cup, adds a spoonful of sugar and stirs it before he crosses the floor and sets the cup down, sits across from her.  
  
“I tried to convince you to stay,” he teases as he takes a sip from his own mug.   
  
She glances down, notes that he’s poured her coffee in his favorite cup, pleased with the gesture, though she doesn’t comment on it.  
  
“My legs might be even shakier if I had,” she fires back, and Dean’s laughter is soft and under his breath, his eyes heated at the flirt, but he’s still in the process of waking. Pala finds herself grateful that he has the luxury to take his time in doing so. It’s something he hasn’t always had.  
  
“That’s probably true,” he replies.  
  
She takes a careful sip of her coffee, then considers the man before her. He’s in a good mood, hair still sleep mussed, chest still bare. He looks relaxed.  
  
_You should tell this to Dean.__  
_   
“This is how your mother used to take her coffee,” she says tentatively, paying careful attention to his reactions. “One sugar, no cream. Your dad, of course-”  
  
“He always drank his black.”  
  
Pala nods. “Yes, he did. He never was any good at making it, so he used to drive to the bakery to get them both coffee some mornings.”  
  
“I never knew that. I mean, about him driving to the bakery. I started making coffee when I was…Jeez, eight, I think.”  
  
“Is that a bad thing?”  
  
Dean’s quiet for a moment, then he smiles unexpectedly in memory. “No. It’s not. Actually, I liked doing it. He always said I made the best coffee. Be hard to screw up the little hotel packets, but that’s how I figured out how much to put when Dad would actually buy a can.”  
  
Pala likes this, the tender memory in his eyes, the sweetness in the thin lines of age on his face as he remembers simpler times. She wishes his brother could remember the goodness in their childhood and not only the bad.  
  
“So. We take our coffee like my parents did,” Dean continues. “That’s…”  
  
She smiles. “I believe most would call it cute.”  
  
He rubs the back of his neck, drops his gaze, heat pinkening his cheeks a little, and Pala shakes her head at the sight. Dean’s a lot sweeter in love than she thought he’d be.  
  
“Sam likes my stories,” she says, still cautious. “About John and Mary. I think it helps him- To put a person with the face, when it comes to your mom. And to see your dad as a man, not as…” She sighs, shakes her head, and pushes on. “Did he- Did he ever tell you about the day they brought you home from the hospital?”  
  
Dean looks up, presses his cup to his lips, and she takes that for the ‘no’ that it is. He doesn’t stop her, though, and she knows him well enough to know when he doesn’t know how to ask for something.  
  
“He spent an hour on the car seat. Maybe longer. I was still getting the hang of everything back then, couldn’t track time as well. He spent a lot of time cussing, because he was so worried that he wouldn’t get it right, but I guess he finally did. You made it home safe, at any rate.  
  
“He helped your mom into the car, and she was so tired and…in pain, still, and John was so good to her, Dean. So sweet and careful as he eased her into the seat and took you from her….”  
  
She trails off, lost in her thoughts, at that long ago memory of one of the most important days of her very unusual life. Dean never speaks, though, and she looks to his face for clues to his state of mind, the way she’s learning to do, and she can’t quite read his expression.  
  
She asks, “Dean, should I have not- I’m sorry, Sam thought you would-”  
  
“My dad worried about the car seat?”  
  
His voice is thick, and now she sees the few tears gathered in the corners of his eyes and she reaches across the table to take his hand in hers. He squeezes her fingers, rubs his thumb over the back of her hand.  
  
“For the first month of your life,” she confirms and is rewarded with a chuckle.  
  
“Can’t imagine that.”  
  
“John loved you, Dean. So, so much. I know that…I know that when you…” She sighs. “He loved you. Whatever else. You were his son, and he was proud of you. So was Mary. Your parents…They wanted you, Dean. They wanted you very much.”  
  
He doesn’t answer, just nods and averts his gaze, takes another sip of coffee, thumb still stroking her skin. She lifts her own cup to her lips, but before she can drink, Dean asks,  
  
“How do you remember this so well?”  
  
She smiles at him. “It was the first time I ever saw you.” She pauses. “It was the first day I knew what it meant to care about someone.”  
  
Dean tugs on her hand then, and she slides out of her seat and to the other side, next to him, lays her head on his shoulder as he wraps his arm around her and kisses the top of her head.  
  
“I love you, Baby,” he whispers fiercely into her hairline.  
  
“I love you too, Dean,” she whispers back.  
  
And like his parents did so many times before them, Dean and Pala finish their morning coffee in comfortable silence.


	22. Safe & Sound

**Under The Hood: Safe & Sound** **   
** _ Dean can’t find a spell to bring Pala back, so he’ll have to make his own. _

* * *

Dean spends his nights sleeping in the backseat of the Impala, a flashlight in one hand, one lore book or another in the other. He reads and reads and reads, sleeps for two hours at a time, then reads more. He grows tired, but he doesn't let it stop him.    


Pala is all he thinks about.   
  
Sam researches just as much as he does, and Castiel does the leg work, tracking down obscure texts all over the country. Dean has to force himself to keep hunting, because he knows Pala would want him to, but every person he saves reminds him of the one person he couldn't.   
  
So, he reads.   
  
He reads about sacrifice, intent, and sentience. He learns about ancient totems rumored to be warm to the touch even in the dead of winter. He absorbs every bit of information he can, and then, he turns to books on spellcraft.   
  
Dean buys books on Wicca, cruises websites devoted to the Craft, and discovers how-to guides on spell writing. He's not a witch or a warlock or a Wiccan, but he is determined. He wants Pala back, whatever the cost.   
  
She's not gone. She's just out of reach.   
  
Sam finds the Wicca books and Dean's notes in the car when they're headed home from a case. It isn't like Dean's trying to hide them, but Sam shakes his head and lets out a sigh.   
  
"Dean..."  
  
"The witch created the spell, then she destroyed it. We're on our own, Sammy. Pala is special. We're not gonna find anything that can help that's already out there."   
  
"You really think you can-"   
  
"Weren't you the one who said I was a genius?" Dean cuts in. "It's not like you're the one having to read through all this crap."   
  
"Dean, I'm doing just as much research as you are. I just don't think you should try to create a spell out of nothing."   
  
"Then find me one," Dean bites back.   
  
The conversation ends after that.   
  
Dean figures that all spells were new at some point. They didn't just appear on their own. Someone had to write each and every spell he's ever used, each exorcism, each summoning ritual. They all came from someone's head, and Dean may play the idiot more often than he doesn't, but he wouldn't have survived this long as a hunter if he didn't have some level of intelligence.   
  
This is what he tells himself each night, after he exhausts his research, as he writes and rewrites a spell, leaning into the cushions when his writing starts to swim in front of him, imagines Baby's arms around him. He needs her, and while he doesn't regret his decision outside her hospital room or what he convinced her to do on the asphalt, he hadn't counted on just how impossible it would be for him to move forward without her. She is in his mind in everything he does, and sometimes when he's too tired, driving around No-Name-Town USA, he swears he can see her smiling at him from across a busy street. He does double takes constantly, and not a single woman that has made him glance twice has looked even remotely like the woman he lost.   
  
_Baby,_ he thinks as he drifts into sleep, _I don't know how much longer I can do this. _  
  
Eventually, after months of careful work, he's ready to try. He waits for Sam to go to sleep, because if this doesn't go the way Dean hopes, there's no way he can face his brother's sympathetic eyes.   
  
He lights the taper candles, cross-legged on the floor in front of the hood, tosses the herbs in the correct order into the offering bowl, then picks up his silver knife and cuts into his arm, watches the red stain the flowers and leaves, chanting in careful, practiced Latin. Dean closes his eyes, holds his breath, and waits, feels warmth rush across his body.   
  
Then,   
  
"Dean?"   
  
_It worked._  
  
He doesn't open his eyes, because he can't quite believe it.   
  
"Dean, you're bleeding."   
  
A warm hand presses against his arm, trying to stem the flow of blood streaming out, and Dean makes himself be brave and looks.   
  
Pala is kneeling in front of him, naked, and when he flicks his eyes beyond her for a brief second, he sees weapons, the army blanket, and a few other things, just like the first time this happened.   
  
He grabs her into a hug, crushes her against his chest, thanks every god, devil, angel and anything out there listening for this gift. She's back, she's really back. Pala is warm and in his arms, holding him just as tightly as he holds her, and he pulls back, brushes her hair back and tangles his fingers in the dark curls, smiles as tears stream down his face, sees his expression mirrored in her own.   
  
"I never stopped believing in you," she tells him.   
  
Her lips are on his an instant later, and Dean responds eagerly, hungry for her kiss, needs the taste of her on his tongue, but she pulls away too soon, looks worriedly at his arm.   
  
"Come on. Let's get this cleaned up."   
  
Dean gets to his feet, grabs the army blanket so she can wrap it around her, then takes her hand again. He can't stop touching her, can't take his eyes off her, so Baby takes the lead, tugging gently on his hand, and he follows willingly to the bathroom, sits patiently while she cleans up the cut on his arm and wraps it in gauze. He has so much to say that he says nothing instead, preferring to just stare at her, green wool against her golden skin, soft hair brushing over her collarbone.   
  
"It worked," he says at last. "You're really here."   
  
"It did. I'm here, Dean. I'm here now."   
  
She cups his face in her hands, kisses his forehead, and his eyes flutter shut once more at the innocent touch.  
  
"Come on," she bids softly, one hand drifting to his shoulder, thumb stroking across the tense muscle. "You're exhausted. You need to sleep."   
  
Pala brings him upright, and once again, Dean follows behind her, a bit in a daze, relief warring with excitement. For the first time in months, Dean feels like he's home, but he still can't relax.   
  
Not even when Pala shuts the door behind her, then crosses the room to the dresser, smiling when she finds that he hasn't moved her clothes from her drawers. The blanket drops to the ground, and a moment later, she tugs one of his shirts over her head. The worn cotton falls to her mid-thigh, and she grabs his hand again, goes to shut off the light, but he stops her.   
  
"No," says Dean roughly. "Leave it."   
  
She nods in understanding, steel eyes gentle. "Okay."   
  
Together, they slide between the sheets, and Dean pulls her into his arms, buries his face into her hair. Her arms close around his shoulders, one hand cradling the back of his head, her fingers trailing in a loop along his spine. The gentle, steady touch eases months of tension from him, and he clings to her tighter, tears still leaking from his eyes.   
  
"You need to sleep," says Pala.   
  
"I can't," he tells her. "I'm afraid if I go to sleep, you won't be here when I wake up."   
  
"Dean, I'm here. I'm really here." Her voice is rich with emotion, and he drinks it up, the sound of his name on her lips. "I'm here." She laughs softly. "You'll have to buy a new car."   
  
"I'll walk," he says. "I don't fucking care."   
  
"Dean..." She pulls away, tucks her hand under his jaw to tilt his face up so she can lock gazes with him. "You have to get some rest."   
  
The truth is, he doesn't feel tired. He stares up at her, thinks that his memory hasn't done her justice.   
  
"You are so beautiful," he says.   
  
He presses up on his elbow, rolls her onto her back and slips between her thighs, captures her mouth in a soft kiss, moaning when she arches against him and pulls him closer.   
  
"I missed you too," says Pala.   
  
Her hands are everywhere, and Dean sits back on his haunches, pulls his shirt over his head, and she's on him in a second, lips pressed against his tattoo, travelling across his chest to suck on a nipple, then the other, sending a jolt straight to his groin. He undoes his fly with shaking hands, overwhelmed by the situation, struggles to get out of them, but manages it with her help, lands on his back with her above him, her only clothing discarded at some point.   
  
They are skin on skin again, and Dean grabs for her thigh, traces his initials, then lifts his hand to trace her bottom lip.   
  
"Slower," he says, and she nods, moves so they lay side by side.  
  
He takes his time, relearns her body with his palms and tongue, recognizes the noises she makes at each touch, feels himself relax into her hands, against the soft push and pull of her movements. Legs tangling together, a thin layer of sweat flavoring her skin as he kisses and licks his way along her curves, her moans in his ears, and Pala returns with equal fervor, their exploration growing more desperate, until finally,   
  
"Dean, please, I need you."   
  
He needs her too, just as much, has needed her every day since she's been gone, and he hovers over her, cradles her in his arms as he pushes inside her, watches her face as he fills her up, a deep groan torn from his throat when he's fully sheathed. Dean wants to live in this moment, where his Baby is staring up at him, wrapped around him in every way, eyes full of love and lust and want and need.  
  
"Move, Dean," she says finally. "I need to feel you."   
  
He does, slow at first, pressing his mouth against her cheek, her neck, her lips, anywhere he can reach, and she does the same to him, hands caressing the length of his back, squeezing his muscles. She meets every thrust, soft little sounds of pleasure escaping from her, and eventually, the pace quickens, their rhythm reaching a crescendo, and Dean is doing everything he can to make this last, _please never let this end, don't let this end, please, fuck please_  
  
"Dean," gasps Pala. "Dean, I'm- You feel so good- I- _Oh. Dean!_"  
  
She clenches around him, trembling as she comes, and Dean follows her over the edge, "Baby, fuck, yes."   
  
"Yes, Dean, please-"   
  
"Baby-"   
  
It takes him longer than it ever has to come down, whole body shaking with the aftershocks, her legs trembling on either side of his thighs, and he bumps her nose with his, smiles when she giggles.  
  
"Missed that," she says.   
  
He kisses her, soft, sweet, short. "I love you, Baby. I love you so much."   
  
"I know. I love you, Dean. I always knew you'd find a way."   
  
"I promised I'd never give up," he replies.   
  
"And you didn't." She curls a hand around his cheek, strokes his stubble with her thumb, then lifts her head to kiss him.   
  
"I love you," he says again, needs to, has to, can't get enough of the fact that he can say it and see her smile at him when he does.   
  
"I love you."   
  
He can't get enough of that either.   
  
Dean rolls over onto his back, pulls her against his side, but she shrugs out from under his shoulder, pushes him onto his side and presses up behind him, wraps her arm around his middle, lays her head against the space between his shoulder blades.   
  
"You need to rest now, Dean," she tells him.   
  
"I'm afraid if I sleep..."   
  
"I'll be right here when you wake up," Pala promises. "Just let me hold you."   
  
"Say it again," Dean asks, voice breaking as he laces his fingers through hers, feels her lips press against his back.   
  
"I love you, Dean. I'll be right here when you wake up."   
  
"I love you, Pala."   
  
"Rest, Dean. I love you too."   
  
He is suddenly aware of the long months behind him, the hours spent researching that have culminated in this blissful exhaustion, and as he drifts off to sleep, he thinks about tomorrow and of all the ways he intends to make up for lost time.   
  
When he wakes in the morning, he smiles at the feel of Pala's warmth pressed against his back, her arm having shifted a little in the night, so he reaches behind him to bring her hand around his stomach again.   
  
And touches the back cushion of the Impala.


	23. The Hunters' Rose

**The Hunters' Rose** **  
** ** _a love story of second chances and changes_ **

_ Becky Rosen learned her lesson after almost selling her soul to a demon and has spent the last three years helping hunters do their job, even if she’s stuck to the sidelines. When Sam Winchester shows up on her front porch with his sick brother, they’ll both realize how much they’ve changed. _

* * *

**Prologue**

**2001**

_Yecky Becky, Yecky Becky, Yecky Becky._  
  
She thinks it with every footfall. Left foot, right foot. Yecky Becky.   
  
How the name has managed to stick for two years, she doesn't know. Maybe because it's accurate, maybe because she's beyond uncool. It doesn't really matter. It never stops hurting, she never gets immune to it. It thunders in her ears each day, a chorus of laughter preceding and following each taunt. Becky never tries to defend herself, just hunches over her books, lets her hair fall in her face like she has since sophomore year, since middle school, since fourth grade when all the girls suddenly turned mean.   
  
A lot of great writers were loners, she comforts herself. And that's what she'll be one day.   
  
High school will be over in a month; she only has to last until then. 

**2005**

Becky graduates with a three point eight GPA from the university only forty minutes from her hometown. She's lived with her parents all through college, her grades good enough to get her scholarships, financial aid making up the difference, and she has almost no debt at the end of things. Her diploma comes in the mail. Rebecca Rosen is a college graduate. A Bachelor's in English, with a minor in Sociology.   
  
She intends to write, now that she's done with school, and she wants to move away from Pike Creek, because she's been here her entire life. She sends out her resume across the country to different publishing houses, applies for writing grants, and then grows steadily more concerned with each passing day. Grows more disheartened by each rejection letter.   
  
Eventually, Becky finds a job at a locally-owned bookstore, finds comfort being around books, takes advantage of her discount, spends almost as much money as she makes until her parents start dropping hints about her moving out. She gets a second job waiting tables at a coffee house, gets an apartment she almost never spends time at.   
  
Despite having two sets of co-workers, she doesn't make friends. She tries, but no one seems to like her, and standing outside the break room at the bookstore, she overhears a conversation she wishes she could forget.   
  
"She's just too… She's kind of a freak, you know?"   
  
"I know. She seems sweet, I guess, but I don't want to hang out with her. She's asked a bunch of times, and I keep making excuses. She doesn't get the hint."   
  
Becky stops asking. She stops trying. She keeps her head down and scrapes by, opens her laptop in the wee hours of the morning and pours her heart out in black and white, no real stories on the pages, just character sketches of broken girls with broken spirits, all beautiful and unappreciated, all better than anyone can see. The girls Becky wishes she were. 

**2006**

It's her last day at the bookstore; yesterday was her last day at the restaurant. Becky has found a job as a receptionist, but she still works hard during her shift, because she knows no other way to work. She's stocking the fantasy fiction section when she comes across the Supernatural series. She buys the first book after she clocks out.   
  
Her first day at her new job, she's tired, and she drinks an entire pot of coffee, because she stayed up all night reading.  
  
She's impatient for the new books to come out, searches online and finds a message board dedicated to the series. The people on there don't like her any more than people in real life do. They tell her she's too wordy. They don't appreciate her sense of humor or her level of enthusiasm. But, they do like Supernatural as much as she does, and they discuss her theories and opinions, even if they are rude to her. She doesn't have friends, but she has people to talk to.   
  
Sam is her favorite. He's gentler than Dean, and his love for Jess makes her hurt inside, because she can't imagine that anyone will love her like that. She's had two boyfriends and one girlfriend, all of whom left as soon as she started to have real feelings, because, well, she guesses because of the reasons she was called Yecky Becky all through high school.   
  
Becky thinks Sam would see past how much she talks. He would like how excited she gets, think it was cute. He would teach her how to hunt, or maybe he would insist she stay home and be safe. Maybe he'd have her go live with Bobby.   
  
She imagines what it would be like to have a family that wanted her around, and when her parents die in a car crash unexpectedly, she thinks that Sam would understand how much she hurts. 

**2009**

  
Sam is real.   
  
"Can you stop touching me?"   
  
"No."   
  
Because she really _can't_. He's warm and alive and real, and so is Dean, and _wow, this is so cool, but I better never let them read the fan fics I've been writing._  
  
Sam is real. She can't get over it, even though he's not as gentle as she thought he'd be. He seems a little overwhelmed by her, doesn't really have much to say to her. She doesn't mind. It's clear that there's something important happening, and as the months go on and Chuck sends her the drafts of the new books before they hit the shelves, she devours them with a single-minded intensity.   
  
Somehow, the lessons in the books never fully sink in. Danger is everywhere. Demons are real, monsters are real, and she shouldn't be happy about this, but she is, because _Sam is real._  
  
Becky weeps when Sam dies, goes to work with red eyes and asks to go home early. In the months that follow, her boss comments that she's gotten quiet, and she notes that it's said with some relief. 

**2011**

She meets Guy by accident, bumps into him and spill his latte on his shirt. She apologizes profusely, can't stop speaking because she feels so bad about it, but he waves off her concerns.   
  
He becomes her friend, and it has been a long time since Becky has had a friend this good to her. Guy doesn't care that she talks a mile a minute, he can talk just as fast as she can and often does. They have slumber parties, and she never asks, but she's pretty sure he's gay. He's the best friend she's ever had. He makes her laugh, laughs at her jokes, reads her stories- Original and fan fiction alike, but she keeps her love of Supernatural from him, because it's too dear to her heart to risk his rejection.  
  
Guy encourages her to send her writing off to literary agents, and when she rejects that idea, he tells her she should self-publish. He helps her get a job at the event planning company he works for, and she has a lot of fun working with her best friend. After about six months, he confesses to her that he's a Wiccan, and she can see it in his eyes, he's gauging her reaction, expecting her to recoil at the confession, but she doesn't. He loans her a few books, and she thinks that he's happy to have someone to share this with.   
  
She loves Guy so much, and she tells him this one night after a cocktail party, her feet in his lap, drinking free champagne.   
  
"I love you too, beautiful," he replies.   
  
Becky blushes under his compliment. He says stuff like that all the time, casual and sincere, and it endears him to her even more.   
  
"I don't get it, Becky. You're beautiful, you're smart, you're talented. Why aren't you dating anyone?"   
  
She shrugs. "There's no one around here that's interested. I went to high school with everyone the right age, and they still see me as Yecky Becky."   
  
Guy frowns. "What did I tell you about that name? High school's over, sweetheart. Seriously, there has to be someone you're interested in."   
  
And Becky is just the right amount of drunk, so she tells him about Sam. Guy tells her that he can help. She laughs, he laughs, and he drives her home. In the morning, with her head pounding, she wonders if she imagined the conversation, so she asks Guy about it.   
  
He explains that he would never take away someone's free will, he's a Wiccan for Goddess sake, but he could unbury feelings. That's the term he uses. He tells Becky that if Sam's been through as much as she's told him, it could be that Sam just doesn't want to get close to anyone. Becky scoffs. Guy lets out a long suffering sigh.   
  
"Becky, when are you going to wake up and see how amazing you really are? Why is it so hard to believe that a man could love you?"   
  
The conversation lasts over the course of a week, stopping and starting, and Becky thinks hard about Guy's continuous questions and assertions that she's worth pining over. High school's been over for ten years. She's educated, attractive, sexually vivacious. She's a catch.   
  
Nervous, she boards a plane to Vegas, because, "What do you have to lose? If he doesn't love you, the potion won't work. If he does, it will. It's that simple. It'll take a few doses, probably, for him to quit repressing his feelings, but I'm here to help."   
  
Everything is wonderful, and then, everything goes to hell, quite literally, as it often seems to with the Winchesters, and she loses everything over the course of a few days. Her best friend. Her husband. Dignity, self-esteem, and hope.   
  
She cries herself to sleep for two weeks.   
  
Then, she packs up and moves, because she outgrew Pike Creek a long time ago, and the lessons in the Supernatural books have all been learned at last. Hell is on earth, and Becky wants to make a difference. 

**2014**

She has heavy scars across her belly from her one and only hunt: A Wendigo that almost killed her. After that, she stuck to the more boring side of the life.   
  
Garth, who she hasn't heard from in a while, helped her set everything up. A house in Missouri, off the beaten path, where she answers phone calls and takes in injured hunters. Her living room is wall to wall bookcases. Her guest bedroom is a miniature clinic, and she's as good of a field medic as anyone else. Her home is a safe place, warded and well hidden from both Heaven and Hell.   
  
She sells erotica on Amazon to pay the bills, writing in between calls and patching up the men and women keeping the planet safe. She's friends with a lot of them, and when they have time, they call her just to chat, swing by when they're in the area to hang out with her. She's a lot more serious and quiet than she used to be, which she attributes to almost dying in the middle of a forest. But, she's still her bubbly self, and the hunters seem to like her anyway.   
  
Becky feels comfortable in her house, in her new town that actually feels like home, and she has a community she likes. She doesn't know if it's because she finally grew up or because she was never meant to live in Delaware. Either way, she's happy.   
  
She goes by Rose and leaves Yecky Becky in Pike Creek. 


	24. One

Sam hasn't had much opportunity to drive in the last eight months, but with Dean in the back seat curled into himself, his brother can't argue. He tosses another glance over his shoulder, watches as Dean seizes with pain again, wishing he knew what exactly that poltergeist did so he could fix it.    


"Eyes on the road, Sammy," grits out Dean. "You wreck her, and I'll-  _ Fuck _ ."    


Sam forces his eyes back to the front at his brother's words, watches as the speedometer climbs to ninety and pushes a little harder on the accelerator. They're not going to make it back to the bunker in time at this rate, and he doubts a hospital's ability to help his brother. They're in the middle of Missouri, leaving behind a no longer haunted house and a new warrant for their arrests. Dean seemed fine initially, but as the hours have gone on, he's grown worse, and as Sam white-knuckles the steering wheel, he checks in the rearview mirror, watches his brother grind his teeth in an effort to keep silent.    


In the front seat, Sam maneuvers his phone out of his pocket, ignores Dean's threats about focusing on driving.    


"Sam, the Men of Letters have to have something on-  _ sonofabitch. _ "    


"Dean, you're not going to make it to the bunker. You need help now, and I'm going to find it."    


A string of curse words answer him from the back, but Sam ignores them, looks down at his phone trying to find someone he thinks might answer his call. They've burned a lot of bridges in the last several months, Dean especially, and he's not sure who will  actually answer.    


"Sammy." Softer now. "Please. At least pull over. I can't- I don't want to crash. Don't want her to-"    


"Okay, Dean. Okay."    


Sam manages to hold in the sigh as he pulls off the mostly empty highway, parks and turns on the emergency flashers.    


"Thank you," comes from the backseat.    


"Yeah, man. Just...Just hold on, okay?"    


There's no answer, but Sam's not really expecting one. He searches through his contacts, shooting glances over at Dean every minute or so. Whatever it is that's making its way through Dean's system, it's advancing faster now. The familiar face is covered with a thin layer of sweat, hair starting to dampen, and Sam imagines if he were to reach out and lay a hand on his brother's skin, he'd find it feverish.    


He finally finds one person they haven't talked to since before Pala passed, and he's relieved when they answers on the first ring. The conversation is brief, hurried. Missouri. Need someone with experience helping hunters. Is there anyone.    


And there is. A woman named Rose, who apparently is a good field medic and knows almost as much about supernatural ailments as Bobby Singer did. One address later, Sam disconnects with a 'thanks' that is sincere, if almost an afterthought. His GPS tells him that it's a four hour drive, and he looks back at Dean one more time before he pulls back onto the road. 

*

It's five in the morning when Becky is startled awake by frantic knocking at her door.   


She pulls on her pink silk robe over her cotton cow-print pajama pants and black tank top, tying it around her waist as she moves quickly out of her bedroom, crossing the floor in under a minute. She's alert and ready to handle whatever's waiting for her on the front porch, because no one comes to see Becky this early in the morning. Whoever it is outside is a hunter, and they're here for Rose, here for help.    


At least, she thinks she's ready until she sees Sam Winchester.    


It would be almost comical, the shock on his face, if not for the obvious emergency in front of her. He's holding his brother up, an arm wrapped around Dean's middle, shoulder wedged under the other man's armpit. Dean's eyes are scrunched shut; he's clearly in pain, his hand gripping his shirt in the middle of his chest. Becky takes in the lack of blood stains, notes that Dean may be leaning heavily on Sam but he's not favoring either leg.    


"What got him?" she asks and steps aside so Sam can walk past her, but Sam stays rooted to the spot.    


" _ Becky? _ "    


She sighs. "Are you looking for Rose?"    


"I am. Why are you-"    


"You found her." She feels a little embarrassed by the look of disbelief on his face, but she doesn't blame him. "Look, I get that this is- Well, it is what it is, but I think your brother needs some help, if you're looking for Rose. The first door on the right is the guest room, put him in there. What got him?"   


Sam moves then, walks inside her house, and Becky closes the door behind him, does her best to keep herself calm. For whatever reason, she never expected the Winchesters to show up on her porch like so many other hunters have.    


"Becky?" she hears Dean ask. "Like, your ex-wife, Becky?"    


"Shut up, Dean."    


"You're gonna let her work on me? Dude, seriously, I'm not that-  _ fuckthathurts. _ "    


She knows that her feelings aren't important right now, but it still hurts that Dean would rather risk death than let her help him.    


"What got him?" she asks for the third time, raising her voice so Sam can hear her from where she's standing. She's in front of her bookshelves, and she won't know which book to grab if Sam doesn't give her some information.    


"Poltergeist," Sam says at last.    


Becky guesses that's as much of an approval as she's going to get, so she grabs the first two books that come to mind, then heads into the guest room.    


She has it set up like a clinic, right down to the adjustable bed and rolling stool, though she has the walls painted a soft shade of beige, rather than the glaring white that most hospitals favor. The bed is queen sized, and the sheets are white- She goes through bleach at an alarming rate. It's still a guest room, even if she uses it to treat bullet wounds.   


Sam is staring around in amazement.    


"Get his shirt off," she orders, then sinks onto her stool, starts flipping through the pages until she finds the right spot in both books.    


"Dude, she's-"    


"I'm your best shot," Becky says. "Would you please-"    


"Dean, come on."    


"I thought we were supposed to be meeting some chick named Rose," Dean grumbles, but when Becky looks up, the older brother is pulling his shirt over his head like she asked.    


She winces at the sight. Dark black bruises cover his chest and stomach, and when he stiffens in pain, she can almost see one of them move. Quickly, she turns back to her pages, finds the paragraph she needs, starts writing down notes on a sheet of paper.    


"What are you doing?" asks Sam.    


"Poltergeists aren't like normal vengeful spirits," she says distractedly. "They have more power, more abilities. Including the ability to infect. He's sick. His body is trying to destroy itself from the inside out. I can treat it, but it's going to be a long few weeks on his end."    


"Weeks?"    


"Weeks."    


Becky forces herself to block everything else out: Sam's questions, Dean's groans of pain. She focuses instead on getting the right herbs. She's done this before, about a year ago with Richard, one of her friends, and it wasn't pleasant. The cure comes in three stages. The first one is the most painful. And messy.    


Sam follows her into the kitchen, where she starts pulling down herbs from her cupboards.   


"What do you mean weeks?"    


"I've seen this before," Becky answers without looking at him. "My friend, Richard. Same as Dean, the black bruising on his stomach and chest. By the time he got to me, it had spread to his legs and arms. Dean isn't that far along yet, so he may heal a little faster."    


"You have a friend that's a hunter?"    


"I have a lot of friends that are hunters."    


"Any of them know who you really are?"    


She ignores the barb, the acidic tone it's flung at her with. She figures she deserves it; it's not like she and Sam parted on the best of terms.    


"I can help your brother," she says, not meeting Sam's eyes. "That's all I want to do. But, it's going to get worse before it gets better."    


"How much worse?"    


Becky pauses, meets his gaze steadily. "A lot worse. And...it's gonna be gross. Like, really gross. He'll be puking for a good day and a half, so I'll put him on a drip so he doesn't dehydrate."    


She moves for her fridge, but Sam grabs hold of her elbow, and she gasps at the sharpness of the look he gives her.   
  
"How do you know how to do that? If this is some-"   
  
"Sam, this is what I do now. Please let go. You're hurting me."   
  
Relief floods through her when she sees the remorse on his face. Sam Winchester hasn't completely changed after all. She sighs.   
  
"I know this is awkward, and I know I'm not what you were expecting. But, I'm who you came looking for, so I'm asking you to let me do my job. There's not a lot of time for pleasantries, unless you want to make things worse on Dean. All this can wait, right?"   


It's not like her anymore, to ask for permission. She wants to treat him like a few other hunters who have come through here and tried to boss her around, tell him where he can stick his attitude, but she can't. Not after what she did to him three years ago.    


He eyes her warily, and she waits for him to pass his judgment, not sure what she'll do if he decides he doesn't trust her. She wouldn't blame Sam, but she also can't let the man in her guest bedroom die just because she was married to his brother for a few days under less than upfront circumstances. She eyes the waffle maker on her counter, debates the merits of hitting Sam over the head with it like she did once before.    


"You really think you can save him?"    


"I know I can," Becky tells him. "I've done it before, but the longer I wait, the worse this is gonna be."    


Sam nods. "Okay. Do what you need to do."    


She nods as well, then reaches into her refrigerator for the more mundane ingredients of this concoction, glad that Sam can't see her reaction when he adds,   


"Then, we need to talk."    


Her eyes drop closed for a brief second, then she says, "Yeah, I guess we do." 

*

Sam watches from the doorway as Becky works with practiced ease. Dean keeps shooting him dirty looks in between spasms, but for all that he doesn't like the idea of Becky Rosen taking care of his brother, he finds that he can't fault her technique. She's calm and efficient, keeps her touching to a minimal, though she does lay a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder a few times, until she seems to remember whom she's touching. She explains every step of the way what she's doing, even though they're just as familiar with an IV as she is, and she lets Sam read the book she's getting her information from, lets him watch as she mixes together a drink that's a sickly shade of off-white. Dean eyes it suspiciously.    


"You want me to drink that?"    


"Yes," she answers with no trace of humor in her voice.    


"And it's gonna make me puke."   


"Yes."    


"This keeps getting better and better," Dean says.    


"I know." Becky's voice is genuinely sympathetic. "But, I've got all the pay-per-view channels unlocked if you want to watch Casa Erotica."    


There's a beat, and then, for the first time in a month, Dean actually laughs. Sam stares at the sight, rejoices at the sound, even though it stops short, like his brother reminds himself suddenly that he's not allowed to laugh anymore.    


"Alright," says Dean. "Just give me that crap and leave me be. I don't need anyone hovering while I do this."    


Becky hands over the glass, then gets to her feet.    


"I'm sure Sam'll be back in here in a little while. Bucket's right next to your bed."    


Dean nods, downs the mixture with distaste then sets it on the bedside table, grabs the remote and gives Becky a grin before he grimaces. The bruising on Dean's chest has gotten worse since they arrived, Sam notes, the bright colors of the legos contrasting sharply with the black.    


"You sure you don't want me to stay with you?" he asks Dean, and his big brother nods.    


"I'll call if I need something. I'd rather be alone."    


Sam nods, turns away because he doesn't want Dean to see how much this bothers him. He's heard those four words far too often in the last eight months, his brother retreating deep into himself in his pain. It's not unusual for Dean to do this, but somehow, it's worse this time. Sam would give anything if he could help.    


Becky brushes past him, and Sam closes the door as he steps out of the room, right behind her as she walks back into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. He takes a seat at her kitchen table, exhaustion seeping past his defenses now that his brother seems to be more or less on the way to alright again. Physically, at the very least. He thinks this might be the first time his brother will have slept in a bed since the night Pala went missing.    


"I know we said we'd talk," Becky says. "But my couch pulls out into a sofa. You look like you need some rest."    


Sam looks up, sees that she's pulled down two coffee mugs from the cabinet, and if she were anyone else, he would probably offer her a grateful smile. He's so damn tired. He wants a shower and to get horizontal, but he doesn't trust her.    


"I'm good, thanks. Just need some coffee."    


"How do you take it?" she asks.    


"One cream, one sugar. I can-"    


"I've got it. You can watch me make it, make sure I don't put anything in it. But I think if you try to get up right now, you'll fall over."    


She's not wrong in her assessment, he silently and begrudgingly admits, and he does watch as she makes it. She hands him his cup, then leans against her kitchen counter, which he thinks is odd, as it's her house, until he realizes she's just as uncomfortable as he is.    


"Maybe I will get some sleep."    


"There's a blanket on the back of the couch. Do you want me to help you pull the bed out? There's a trick to it. It's old."    


"I can just sleep on it the way it is."    


Becky nods, then the phone rings, and she answers immediately. Sam's eyes are drawn to where she grabbed it from, and he discovers a set-up much like Bobby had back in Sioux Falls.    


"No way. Draw it out of the water, don't get within ten feet of the lake, or you're dead."    


She walks out of the kitchen, and Sam watches her go, hears the soft click of what he assumes is her bedroom door shutting behind her. He sighs, takes one sip of his coffee, then goes directly to the couch, lays down and tries not to think about the last time he fell asleep in Becky Rosen's presence.   


But, as dreams begin to overtake him, he admits that this Becky is very different from the one he left behind.


	25. Two

Becky alternates between taking calls and writing for most of the morning, grateful for the distraction from the Winchesters' presence. Usually, she'd do this at her kitchen table, but with Sam asleep on the couch, she decides to stay holed up in her bedroom, only leaving to refill her coffee cup. She winces each time she passes the guest room and hears Dean retching, surprised that she doesn't also hear the tv in the background. She leaves him alone until almost nine, then steps in to check his IV drip, finds that it's time to hook up a new bag.   


"This sucks," is how Dean greets her, and Becky gives him a sympathetic smile, surprised that he said anything to her at all.   


"I'm sorry. I'd offer you some water, but you're just gonna puke it back up. I can get you some ice, though, if you want it."   


"Thanks."   


She nods, then looks curiously at the blank screen of the television and then back at the bedside table where the remotes are openly displayed.   


"I wasn't kidding about the cable," she tells him hesitantly. "Or, I mean. I have Netflix too, I can show you how to get to it."   


Dean shakes his head. "I'm good, thanks. But...um. Do you have a garage we could put Baby in?"   


Becky smiles, a little thrown off by the request. She's accepted that reading Chuck's books don't make her an expert on either Winchester, but clearly Dean's love of the Impala hasn't been exaggerated.   


"I do, actually. Whenever Sam wakes up, I'll tell him. Anything else?"   


It's Dean's turn to be hesitant. He rubs his stomach absently, and Becky is sure he has to be cramping something awful, but already, the black on his chest is smaller than it was. He looks at her appraisingly and then sighs.   


"Yeah. I, uh. I have some notes in the backseat, with this book I've been reading."   


"You want to work while you're sick?" Becky asks. "Are you sure? Whatever case you're working on, it can wait until-"   


"No. It can't."   


His voice is hoarse, but there is still power behind it, and his bloodshot eyes are hard and fierce. This is the first time he's interrupted her. Becky bites her lip in nervousness, and Dean softens, his posture relaxing.   


"I just meant," Dean says, calm and respectful, "that it's important. To me. Don't think I can concentrate on anything else." He pauses. "If you're a sympathy puker, I would get out of here. "   


"I'll get you some ice," Becky says, the door closing behind her just as Dean heaves.   


In the kitchen, she refills her coffee cup, then gets a glass for Dean, switches the ice maker to the crushed setting, wincing at how loud it is. Sam appears a few seconds later, eyes alert, and for as little sleep as he's gotten, he appears fairly well rested, but she still looks at him apologetically.   


"It's fine," says Sam. "I woke up when you left Dean's room. How is he?"   


"Better." Becky is glad, in so many ways, that she can say this. She can't imagine what would happen if Dean wasn't improving or was getting worse. Overall, she is truly just glad her patient is on the mend. "I came to get him some ice. Drinking anything right now is just going to make him even more sick." She pauses. "I have extra space in my garage- You can put your car in there, Dean asked about that and I told him I'd tell you. He also wanted his stuff from the backseat. Guess you guys are in the middle of something bigger than a poltergeist?"   


Sam sighs, runs a hand through his long hair. "Yeah, we, uh-" He shakes his head. "Thanks, Becky. I'll take this to my brother, you just...whatever you..."   


"I think I can handle it from here," she replies, biting back a sigh of her own as she hands over the glass of ice. "The garage is off the kitchen, whenever you're ready to move the car."   


Sam nods, leaves the room without another word.   


Becky takes a sip of her cooling coffee, stares at the empty space in front of her. She feels like an intruder in her own home. The Winchesters appear, and somehow, she has been displaced, set back several steps, as though she has merely dreamed the last few years and any moment will wake up in Pike Creek.   


_ Well, fuck that _ , she thinks.   


Sam has every right to distrust her, and this situation has no hope except to be a landmine of discomfort, but she is not giving up who she's become just because her biggest mistake has walked through her front door.   


The phone rings, and she answers it immediately, seats herself at her kitchen table, refuses to hide in her bedroom anymore.

*

Sam walks into Becky's guest room as Dean sits himself upright and flops back onto the pillows, eyes closed, a groan escaping his mouth. Steadfastly, Sam ignores the contents of the bucket beside the bed, seats himself on the opposite side of the bed, next to his brother, and hands over the glass of ice. A few seconds later, Dean is crunching on a few pieces, the only sound in the room, and Sam reclines back, swings his feet up onto the blankets and doesn't speak at first, waits to see if Dean's going to need that bucket again before he says anything.   


"What's on your mind, Sammy? Because I'm pretty sure you didn't come in here to snuggle."   


Despite himself, Sam smiles. "Don't be so sure."   


"Don't be weird, dude."   


Sam chuckles. "I came to check on you. Becky said you were better."   


"I don't feel better, but I don't feel worse." Dean opens one eye and looks over at Sam briefly before letting it close again. "She seems pretty capable. Weird, but lucky for us."   


"Yeah, I guess."   


Which isn't exactly true- Sam knows exactly how lucky they are that anyone was close enough to help. Their entire lifestyle relies more on good fortune than skill most days, or so it seems. But, this one time, he feels like maybe his luck is playing a bit of a joke on him, because finding his… Not ex-wife, not exactly, but-   


"You're thinking that we can't trust her?" Dean phrases the sentence as a question, and Sam considers this for a second before he answers.   


"Not exactly, but I wouldn't say she'd be my first choice for sanctuary."   


Dean laughs outright, and Sam startles at the sound. That's twice since they've been here that he's heard his brother laugh.   


"Sanctuary?" Dean says. "Who are you- Quasimodo?"   


Sam would be more indignant if he weren't so damn pleased by his brother's unusual show of levity.   


"Whatever, man. I just think-"   


"Bottom line here, Sam, is she knows what she's doing. And I may have actually lost my spleen to that bucket, but I'm not dead." Dean shrugs. "I know this is...well. It is what it is, Sam. We can get the rest of the cure from her when I can go longer than ten minutes without hurling."   


"Yeah, but- Look, let's just play it by ear, see how you're feeling in a couple days. I can handle being here until then."   


Dean nods. "Okay. I'm gonna try to get some sleep, but hey- Becky said she's got room in the garage. Would you move her inside? And my notes and stuff in the back, just leave em next to the remotes."   


Sam swallows down every remark he wants to make, knows none of them will do any good, and this is, ironically enough, the best mood Dean's been in for eight months. This more than anything convinces him that while Becky may not be his first choice, his brother is in good hands.   


"Sam?"  
  
"Yeah, man, I'll do it. Get some rest."  
  
Dean nods, satisfied, and Sam gets to his feet and crosses the room, closes the door carefully behind him. Becky is still in the kitchen as he passes through to the outside, her voice strong and authoritative as she explains that _yes, Agent Shaefer has the authority to exhume that body_, and Sam isn't sure what to make of the scene, her pink bathrobe, long blonde hair brushing her shoulders, eyes set into a hard glare, even though she's not actually having to stare anyone down.  
  
He moves the Impala into the garage, sits in it for a few minutes before heading back inside. He hasn't talked to Dean about what happened, not really, because that's not how his big brother functions. Truth be told, he misses her too, which is what prompts him to speak out loud.  
  
"Dean's doing better," he says, feeling odd, just like he does each time he talks to her. Pala can hear Dean's thoughts, but not Sam's, so he has no choice but to vocalize anything he wants her to know. "We, uh-" He laughs, more air than mirth, an exhalation of bewilderment. "We're at Becky Rosen's place, actually. She's some kind of safe haven and helper for hunters now. I can't really- I can't really wrap my head around it." He pats the steering wheel, the way he's watched Dean do several times. "Dean wanted me to move you indoors. He's always thinking about you, Pala, especially since that stunt you pulled, stalling out in the road… I don't know, Pala. He just… He misses you." A beat, then, "I miss you too, but I'm worried about my brother."  
  
He gets out of the driver's seat, opens the back door and grabs Dean's notes; they're tucked haphazardly into another book on modern witchcraft. It would be amusing, the idea of Dean perusing the New Age section at a bookstore or wandering the aisles at a shop that burns too much incense, if it didn't represent his brother's desperation, that the Men of Letters library has been exhausted just as surely as Dean has been.  
  
The car secure in the garage, Sam lays a gentle hand on the roof for a brief second before heading back in the kitchen.  
  
Becky's phone call is ending as he closes the door behind him, or perhaps it's a different one, he can't be sure, but she hangs up as he steps in front of her. She looks less uncomfortable than she did earlier.  
  
"There's a bathroom at the end of the hall, if you want to shower or anything."  
  
Sam nods in silent thanks, then decides that's not enough. "Thank you. For helping Dean, and for- well. Letting us stay here."  
  
"This is what I do now, Sam, but you're welcome."  
  
He knows the exact second she sees the book in his hands, and he wishes he had tried to conceal it. He hadn't intended to stop and talk to her.  
  
"Dean's into Wicca now?" she asks, her tone echoing his own when he first saw them.  
  
"Not exactly. Just, uh. Research for a case."  
  
"Oh. Well. I have plenty of books, so if he needs them. They're there. In the living room."  
  
"Right. Thanks again."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
The phone rings again, and as Becky answers, Sam leaves the room, not sure who is more grateful for the sudden end to their conversation.

*

Becky is determined to treat the Winchesters like she would any other hunters, but the problem is she knows they're not going to treat her like any other hunter would treat her. So, she stands in front of her refrigerator, frowning at the eggs, because if Sam were anyone else, she'd make him a late breakfast without a second thought. Most of the hunters that stay here are thrilled to get a home cooked meal, and she likes to cook for them. Sam, though- she worries he won't take it so well, that he'll see it as some sort of pathetic...well, any kind of pathetic, and Becky doesn't like that idea.  
  
"Dammit," she mutters.  
  
_So much for 'well, fuck that,' huh, Becky?__  
_   
She makes a sound of aggravation, immediately followed by a squeak when she hears Sam clear his throat. Her cheeks grow hot, and she hates this, would hate Sam too, if it weren't for the fact that she can't imagine hating him even in the slightest.  
  
"Hi," she says. "Do you want breakfast? I usually cook for anyone who's here, but there's a good breakfast place here in town, but I'll have to get dressed first, because, um. Pajamas."  
  
She wants to scream at herself. _Stop it! This isn't you! He's in your house, stop acting like you're not supposed to be here!_  
  
"Uh, whatever's easiest for you," he replies.  
  
"Scrambled eggs it is then."  
  
She does her best not to look at him as she cooks, the eggs not taking up nearly enough attention or time. Then, they're seated in tense silence at the table, before she realize his coffee needs a refill but she isn't sure she should point that out. Becky eats her breakfast without saying a word, then rinses her plate and the skillet, leaves them both to soak.  
  
She turns to Sam.  
  
"Just- Just make yourself at home. I know this is… And we still need to have that talk, but it can wait until you've had some more sleep, and I've gotten out of my bathrobe. Okay?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Good. Good. So, um. Okay then."  
  
She heads down the hall, frustrated with herself, wishes she could start, if not the day over, the last half hour. She thinks that she needs to get over it, Sam in her house, the weirdness and overall surrealism of it all, because that is the past, and this is her real life that he's walked into. She isn't who she was- She figured things out, and she is successful at both her jobs. She gets fan mail and makes a good living selling her short stories and books. There is more than one hunter who is alive because of her skills as medic and researcher. She matters.  
  
Becky doubts her ability to tell him any of this, though, and she tries not to let this thought linger as she steps under the spray of a hot shower and shuts her eyes against her responsibilities, her life, if only temporarily.


	26. Three

At the end of the second day, they still haven't had their talk, and Sam knows that's his doing, not unwillingness on Becky's part. Some of it is his concern for his brother- Dean vomits well past what he should be able to, frothy black bile passing his lips after his stomach is empty, at which point Sam starts ignoring his brother's assurances that he's fine by himself. Becky checks in on them intermittently, changes Dean's IV bag, switches out puke buckets, and generally gives them their privacy. 

By the time evening falls, Dean seems to be done. At the least, when he finally drifts into unconsciousness again, he stays out for a solid hour, not waking to lean over the side of the bed and retch, so Sam eases himself off the bed and walks silently out of the room, heads straight to the kitchen, where he find Becky at her laptop, a cup of coffee by her side. He raises an eyebrow.

"Kinda late for coffee, isn't it?" he asks, trying to keep his tone conversational and mostly succeeding.

She glances up, offers him a wry smile, then glances at the oven clock. "I guess, but you know. I write when I have time, and I never know when the phone is gonna ring."  
  
A few taps on the keyboard, and then she's closing her laptop, looking over at him expectedly. He seats himself across from her, and she leans back in her chair, laces her hands over her stomach. 

"So, about that talk," she opens with, her tone light, but there's a darker current, somewhere between a dare and a plea for understanding.

Sam really isn't sure where to begin. How? That seems an appropriate place to start, but it feels rude. She's in the process of saving his brother's life.

Instead, he says, "Dean's been asleep for the last hour. He hasn't slept longer than ten minutes since we got here."

Becky nods. "I'll start the next part of the cure in the morning, let him rest for a while."

"There, uh-" Sam swallows, asks as delicately as he can manage, "There any way we can take that cure on the road?"

Becky's smile doesn't reach her eyes, which tells him he's not fooling her in the least. "I'm sorry, but no. He won't make it if you move him now- I know he seems a lot better, but trust me, I've dealt with this before, and-"

"Trust you?" 

It's out of Sam's mouth before he can stop it, but Becky's forced smile never wavers. 

"Yes. A difficult concept, given our history, but yes. You need to trust me. I can save Dean."

_ Save Dean. _ Sam catches on those two words, because he so desperately wants to do that same thing. 

He sighs. "How did-"

"I end up here, as Rose, helper of hunters?"

Sam nods. 

"Garth helped a lot- He came back a few weeks after...I was in the middle of selling my parents' cabin, selling everything, really." She pauses, and Sam thinks she looks like she's debating what all to tell him and what to keep for herself. "I used the money from that to buy this place and the books- Well, those were harder, but Garth, he, um. He knew where Bobby kept a lot of the copies, and other hunters, they left some with me. The first aid stuff I took a couple classes for, and the rest I just sort of picked up in the last few years."

"And the other hunters- They know that you..." He trails off, frowning, because he hadn't expected her explanation to be so simple. The idea of Becky Rosen as part of the hunting lifestyle, as a safe haven for the community doesn't make sense to him. He can't reconcile the woman who immediately took charge when his brother was dying with the woman who drugged him to get him down the aisle.

"You mean do they know I almost sold my soul to a demon? Or that I learned about all this stuff because I thought I was in love with you because I read the Supernatural books?"

"I...Both, actually. These people trust you and, and rely on you, and-"

She shakes her head, looking a little disgusted with him. "They don't really care. Everyone got into the life somehow, isn't that the motto? I don't ask them questions, and they don't ask me. Garth was willing to vouch for me, and the more people I helped, the more my reputation grew. I'm good at what I do for them, and everything else- It's none of their business."

The look she's giving him is filled with anger, and he narrows his eyes at her. 

"That easy?" he asks. "One day, you're Becky Rosen, and the next you're Rose, first name only?"

"It wasn't easy," she says, her left thumb rubbing her stomach through her shirt. "But, I guess that's about how it went, more or less."

"And the more part?" Sam prompts, not quite willing to accept the simplicity of her answers.

Becky sighs and shakes her head. "Sam, I don't know you. I never did. I felt like I did, because of Chuck's books, because I had been inside your head and knew how you felt about certain things. But those books- They left out a million things that only you know, or that maybe Dean knows. It was so stupid of me to think that I knew you without talking to you, really talking to you, not at you. And I am sorry for that, I truly am. But, I wish you could see that you are doing the same thing to me now. 

"I'm not who I was three years ago, and news flash: I'm not in love with you anymore. I never was, not really, because you were a character in a book to me, but I have always been a real person to you, and you treated me like everyone else always has. Like Yecky Becky, annoying and weird and not worth having an actual conversation with because you couldn't get past the spazz. Which, okay fine, there was a lot of spazz, but I am _ not _ Yecky Becky anymore and I am not some stupid fangirl either. I'm not a hunter, but I am part of the life now, and I save people too, maybe not with the bullets and the door kicking, but I am giving hunters what they need to do the door kicking and bullet thing and a safe place to stay when that doesn't go so well. 

"And I have been talking for a lot longer than I planned to, so I've ended up somewhere very different than where I started. So, I'm sorry about what happened with Guy. I was naive and trusting and sad, but I am not that girl, not anymore. If I could undo it, I would, but I can't, and I am not the only person in this room who has made mistakes, Sam. I really wish you'd cut me some slack and quit looking at me like you're waiting for me to turn into Yecky Becky, because guess what? Yecky Becky is dead."

She's shaking with emotion, and Sam stares at her in wonder, unsure how to react, incapable of taking in everything she's said all at once. Without warning, she gets to her feet, chair scraping against the floor loudly, almost deafening in the silence that has followed her outburst. He can't take his eyes off her, and she looks directly back at him, no trace of the nervousness that she's displayed outside of Dean's bedside. 

"What I did was wrong," she says. "I am truly sorry, but this is the last time I am going to apologize. The girl who married you under the worst kind of pretenses- She doesn't exist anymore. So, stop treating me like her. How would you like it if I treated you like you were still fucking a demon?" The chair scrapes against the floor again as she pushes it into the table. "I'm going to check on your brother, then I'm going to bed. If it helps, start thinking of me as Rose, or just- You know, whatever. I don't care. But Dean is stuck here for a few weeks, so we are gonna have to tolerate each other until then."

Sam watches her leave the room, absorbing her words and realizing that maybe, just maybe, he's been unfair. This idea, though, isn't one he can process yet, so he goes to retrieve his laptop. Whatever else he can't accept about this new version of Becky he's found here in Missouri, he believes he can trust her with his brother, which means that until he can figure out how to be around her, he doesn't have to.

He opens a search browser and looks for work.

*

Becky is still shaking when she steps into the guest room and finds Dean awake, reading that book on Wicca that Sam brought in from the car.

"Sam said you were sleeping."

"I was," Dean rasps. "Woke up about five minutes ago."

"You should rest." Becky crosses the room, looks at his empty IV bag and then at his pale face. "Think you can keep some broth down?"

"Let's not push it," and his tone and half smile make it a joke. 

She tries to smile, but she can't quite manage it, so she turns away from him, blinking back the tears she managed to hold back during her confrontation with Sam.

"If you think you can keep down water, I can take the IV out," says Becky.

"Not with your hands shaking like that."

She looks at him, knows she shouldn't be surprised that he's observant, but finds she is. His expression is kind, if tired, and he continues.

"I take it that Sam and you had some kind of talk?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she blurts out. "You never liked me."

"I didn't," Dean admits. "But, you are saving my life here, so I owe you the benefit of the doubt, right?" He shrugs. "Besides, I'm not a complete asshole, and maybe I just- Look, I'm being nice because I want to. Do you want me to be a jerk?"

She shakes her head.

"Alright then," he says. "Don't worry about Sam. He just...has some trust issues where you're concerned, but as long as I, you know, don't start following you around like a puppy..."

Despite herself, Becky lets out a soft giggle, wipes at her cheeks. "I really did think that potion wouldn't mess with his free will."

Dean shrugs. "Becky, I've been through enough shit in the last year, that I'm a big believer in second chances now. We all want one, right? And I think that, considering what you've set up here, what you've got going on, you earned one. But, you didn't marry me. Give him some time." He pauses, grins. "Or, you know, just hit him over the head with a waffle iron."

She laughs. "That was one time. And, thanks."

Dean nods. "Sure. I can't stand to see a girl cry. Just...don't worry about Sammy. It's been a rough few months for both of us."

Becky wants to ask, but she doesn't think she should, not with the dark look in Dean's eyes.

"Okay," she agrees. "You want that IV out now?"

It doesn't take long for her to remove the needle from his arm and bandage him up. She steadfastly ignores Sam when she gets Dean a glass of water and two Tylenol PM, which she gently orders him to take, and to her surprise, he takes them without argument, but as she leaves the room, he's making notes in the margin of his book.  
  
Becky closes her bedroom door, steps into her private bathroom, and undresses, pulls her cow pajama pants back on, then her black tank top. She brushes her teeth, then runs her fingers through her hair, pulling at a few tangles. She looks at her reflection in the mirror, at her long blonde hair and pale green eyes, and sees herself as Sam must see her, as a girl who was so desperate for love that she let a demon manipulate her into drugging him. But, she lifts her tank top, runs her fingers over the long raised scars on her stomach from the Wendigo's claws, and thinks that looks can be deceiving. 


	27. Four

The second part of the cure isn't what Sam expected, not that he really knew exactly what it would be. Becky hands over the book without comment, and he has to read the passages twice before he can fully process it. For her part, she looks calm and accepting of his hesitance, and she waits patiently for his nod of approval. It isn't like he has any other option if he wants his brother to survive, the poltergeist's infection.   
Becky explains the procedure to Dean, who is quicker to agree to it than Sam was. Dean merely nods, asks a few questions, and then sinks back onto his pillows, staring down at the black expanse on his chest, his anti-possession tattoo not even visible at present.

"How many times are we gonna have to do this?" asks Dean.

"There isn't an exact number," Becky admits with a note of apology. "But, the last time, it was two straight weeks, every hour and a half at first, then every three. The infection is gonna try to cling, so you're gonna be tired, feverish, and achy. The vomiting is over, though. For the most part."

"This is great." The sarcasm is thick, but Dean appears mostly resigned. "Well, cut me open then, doc."

Becky smiles. "I'm not a doctor."

"Let me pretend. Makes this less crappy."

Sam watches their rapport with interest, surprised by his brother's seemingly easy acceptance of Becky as his medical attendant. Dean's interactions with her are genuine and kind, and Sam finds it hard to wrap his head around. When Becky leaves the room to get Dean some stuff for a quick shower before they start bleeding the infection from the black mass, Sam watches her go, then turns his gaze back to his brother, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.

"What?"

"Just surprised at how quickly you've decided to trust her."

Dean shrugs. "Looks to me like she's paid her dues. Not saying I want to vacation with her, but she's standing between me and the reaper, think I owe her some civility."

"I've seen you be civil, Dean. This...This is almost friendly."

"Yeah? So, what?" He shakes his head at Sam, eyes tired and bloodshot, one with a burst vessel from where he vomited too hard. 

"I just..." Sam thinks he should probably drop this. His brother is sick, and he's been through more than his share, especially since last year. But, Sam isn't handling this situation well, and he needs his big brother's advice to follow. "I can't deal, man. Not with any of this."

Dean sighs. "Sam...You guys have bad history. But, it's history. Today, she's saving my life and giving me a comfortable place to stay while I ooze poltergeist cooties."

"It's that easy for you."

"Kinda. Besides..." Dean swallows hard, averting his eyes as they begin to water. "I think Pala would like her, man. Becky grew up and made her own way, and she's just- Sweet. Okay? Pala would tell me not to hold the past against her." His exhale is heavy, rattled in his chest. "I mean, if she drugs you again, fuck her, I'll be the first in line to take her down. But she seems sorry, and...I've done a lot of stuff I regret, but Pala just...absolved me. And I did shit in Hell that makes Becky and that love potion look like an after school special. So, if I get a second chance to do things right- more second chances than I deserve...So does she."

Sam stares, dumbfounded at his brother's speech. This is the most his brother has said about his not-quite-dead girlfriend since she turned back, and this is the most forgiving that Dean has ever been. Sam thinks he maybe, somehow, underestimated Pala's effect on their lives, and he takes in what his brother said about second chances, thinks about Ruby and Lilith and Dean in Purgatory, a million fuckups, some big and some small. And Sam suddenly realizes that his brother wants one specific second chance.

"You didn't- You didn't lose her because-"

"I'm gonna stop you there, Sammy. We're not talking about me. We're talking about Becky. You don't have to like her. Find a job, take the car, and get gone for awhile. You don't have to trust her, but you damn sure trust me. I'll be fine here." Dean closes his eyes, cover his face with one hand. "But think about what I said, little brother. About chances."

Becky reenters the room then, and Sam turns to look at her, but she avoids his gaze in favor of Dean's pained form. She frowns.

"You okay, Dean?"

"Yeah. Just ready for that shower."

Sam leaves the room silently. Watching Becky and Dean is too much while he contemplates what his brother has shared with him. As much as he tries, Sam just can't get to the point that Dean is at, not now anyway, not while he's right in the middle of everything. The events of the last few days run in his mind on a loop, then mix with memories of Pala, of Pala and Dean, and he misses her with a sharp suddenness that carries him into the garage and behind the wheel. 

No one will ever miss Pala the way Dean does, and Sam knows this, which is why he doesn't offer any input or attempt to share his own grief. He has tried to shoulder as much of the burden as Dean will let him, but he knows, has known, that there is no way he can do anything to ease the loss, except bring her back, and he can't figure out how, no matter how many times he reads Trisha's diary . He lets out a sigh, lays a hand on the wheel, seeking some kind of connection with the woman trapped inside the vinyl and steel frame. Pala was an older sister, his friend, and he misses their early morning runs and easy conversations, sometimes serious and sometimes not. He wishes she were here now, wonders what she would think, if Dean is right and if Pala would make Becky her friend. Too many questions, and nowhere near enough answers.

Sitting in the car doesn't help him, not the way it seems to help Dean, and it doesn't take long for him to get antsy. 

He says, "It looks like Dean's gonna be okay. Becky knows her stuff." He pauses, debates giving her more information, but decides Pala probably doesn't need the gruesome details. "I think...I need to get out of here. Get my head around all this."

He nods, then gets out, the door closing audibly behind him. Back in the kitchen, Becky's sitting down to a late breakfast, or possibly an incredibly early lunch. She doesn't smile at him, and Sam can't blame her. 

"There's stuff for sandwiches," she says. "I'm having cereal. I know I already told you this, but, you're welcome to anything while you're here."

Sam nods. "Thanks. I think I'm gonna head out later- Looks like there's a job down in Alabama."

"What kind?"

"Uh...Werewolf, probably."  
  
"Do you want backup? I can make a couple calls, see if someone wants to partner up."

He's surprised, but he tries to mask it. The small quirk of her lips tells her he isn't successful.

"I'll be okay, thanks. Dean, uh, he's gonna be okay here, right? I mean, if I go, he'll..."

"He'll be alive when you get back, Sam." Her voice is kind and comforting, and he is surprised by how reassuring it is. "The cure isn't pleasant, but it's effective."

"Then, I guess I'll go let Dean know, be on my way."

She nods. "Okay, Sam."

Her eyes lock with his, and Sam holds the contact for a long minute, noticing for the first time the grey-green color, thinks rather unexpectedly that they're pretty. 

He clears his throat. "Okay."

*

Sam's been gone for a week, and Becky's routine is more or less back to normal. She's used to having a hunter laid up in her guest room, and she attends to Dean with careful precision each time she reopens the cut on his chest, proud that she doesn't gag each time the black pus bubbles up to the surface. At first, she has to change his bandage each hour faithfully, because it soaks through quickly, the gauze turning black and red. By the end of the sixth day of the second phase, she can change it every two. She frowns in worry, because while the black marring Dean's skin is growing smaller, it's taking longer than she originally anticipated. Becky thinks her original assessment of his initial health may have been too positive.

Dean gets regular texts from Sam, and after eight days gone, Sam calls while Becky is finishing up. She's tired- Waking every hour and a half to treat her patient is taking its toll on her. Last time she did this, she had help. 

"Nebraska?" 

Becky would laugh, but it bothers her that Sam is going to such lengths to avoid her. On the other hand, she muses that his absence shows at least a decent amount of trust in her. He's left her unsupervised to care for his brother. This is probably the best she can hope for, and she isn't greedy. She'll take what she can get.

"Be careful, man. Maybe call Rudy, or....Dude, I just don't think you should do this one alone."

She looks at Dean curiously, and he shakes his head, says,

"Sam found a case in Nebraska, thinks it's necromancy."

She feels bold, but risky, as she holds out her hand for the phone. Dean is surprised, it's all over his face, but he nods.

"Becky wants to talk to you. Hang on."

He hands over his cell without protest, and she smiles at him in thanks. 

"Sam, you there?"

"Yeah." His tension is palpable. "What's up? Dean okay?"

"He's healing. Look, Sam, would you send me the article or whatever? And please, let me call someone for backup."

"I don't think that's necessary."  
She narrows her eyes, frustrated by his clipped response, then turns her back on Dean, stares at the tile beneath her shoes. 

"Your brother is healing, but any stress at this point will cause the infection to root deeper in his system and prolong his suffering. If he thinks you're out there, dealing with the undead while he can't watch your back...Well, whatever happens is on you, not me. I'm trying to do what's best for your brother, and for the people of Nebraska. I can help, and you should let me."

Silence, then a frustrated exhale. "Fine. I'll email it to you."

"Send it to Rose Locke, lock with an e, one word, no spaces. It's a gmail account."

"Yeah, okay, fine. Put Dean back on the phone." a pause. "And Becky- Thanks. For everything. Alright?"

It catches her off guard, the brusqueness followed so swiftly by sincerity, but she recovers, echoes, "Alright."

She hands the phone over to Dean, then gathers up the soiled bandages and leaves the room. She disposes of them and washes her hands, grabbing the cordless and dropping onto her couch. Her address book is in the coffee table's drawer. It only takes a few minutes to find the person she's searching for- Janine changed her number recently, and Becky no longer knows it offhand. 

On the third ring, Becky is greeted fondly with, "Hey, Rosie."

The blonde smiles, curls her legs up under her. "Hey. You anywhere near Nebraska?"

"I can be. Everything okay?"

"Another hunter is working a case there, possible necromancer. I'll get the name of the town for you soon, if you'll go ahead and start that way. No pressure, if you already got another job lined up."

"Count me in. Never killed a zombie before," says Janine. "Maybe I'll swing by your place after for some TLC."

Becky laughs. "Thanks. Sounds good. I'll call you later with the name of the town."

"No worries. I'm just outside of Chicago, it's gonna be a while."

They talk for a few more minutes. Janine flirts a little, and Becky flirts back, likes the feeling she gets in her tummy at the banter. She hangs up with a light blush on her cheeks, then heads to her room to retrieve her laptop. It's the work of minutes to check her email and read the two articles Sam forwarded to her. She calls Janine back, gets an answer on the first ring this time. She gives the hunter the town's name, spells it out, and then sighs.

"Janine...I'm pretty sure it's not a necromancer. Sorry, but you'll have to kill zombies another time."


	28. Five

Sam frowns at Becky's email, detailing why she thinks he's wrong about the necromancer. He's never heard of Clay People before, or Clays as she refers to them for short. They look similar to the undead, formed from mud or clay and typically given human appearance. It is a similar style of magick, she admits, but as there is only one grave desecration, and one grave can make as many as twenty Clays, this seems more likely to her.

He reads over the pages she scanned and attached, remains unconvinced of her theory. There's only been one grave desecration reported in the papers; if he checks out the cemetery, he may find signs of others. It's entirely possible that the necromancer was interrupted in the middle of the last ritual and had to book before they could finish. Still, he can't completely discount her research, even if he doesn't agree yet. He reads the pages a second time, dislikes how much sense it makes. If Dean were here, he'd make a comment about unnatural freaks, maybe something about wannabe snowmen. The thought makes Sam smile and miss his brother simultaneously.

There's a knock at the door, and Sam looks up, reaches for his weapon out of instinct. He's across the room quickly, and it's not until he turns the handle that he remembers Becky called him backup. He swallows his sigh as he opens the door. A tall woman stares back at him with dark brown eyes, black hair just brushing her jaw line, a backpack slung over one shoulder.

"You Rosie's friend? Sam Winchester?"

Sam's eyebrow raises, but he nods and steps aside.

"Janine," she says as she brushes past him. 

He turns the lock and redoes the chain before he seats himself back at the table. 

"How, uh, how long have you known her?"

"’Bout a year and a half. Met her when I needed some lore scrounged up. Don't know how she does it." Janine smiles fondly, then turns serious. "Rose email you about the Clays?"

Slowly, Sam nods. "I'm not convinced. I want to do a sweep through the graveyard first."

"Never hurts to be thorough," Janine agrees amicably. "Should do that sooner rather than later. No sense tramping around in the dark if we don't have to."

Sam considers this, has no argument against it, so he shuts his laptop, motions to the spare bed. "If you wanna drop your stuff there, save you the cash."

She accepts his offer with nothing more than a nod, then pulls her cell out and taps out a text message. He leads the way out to his car, resists the urge to introduce Janine when she slides into the passenger seat. The woman seems content to ride in silence, preoccupied with her phone, and Sam feels a little awkward, like he should be making small talk.

"How long have you known Rose?" Janine asks without warning.

"Um...a while, I guess."

Janine accepts this without further question. A lot of hunters value the vague explanation. 

South Oak Cemetery is across town, but it's still just a fifteen minute ride, lack of conversation making it feel longer. Sam parks, and Janine suggests splitting up, so they do, and he gets irritated when he doesn't find any other disturbed graves. He doesn't want Becky to be right, for a lot of reasons he's not particularly proud of. The woman is taking care of his brother and sent him backup that he reluctantly admits he needs. And yet, the lack of evidence to support his own theory rubs his nerves raw.

Janine's waiting for him back at the car, leaning against the passenger side with her phone in her hand again. She looks up as he approaches, quirks her head in question, and he sighs.

"Nothing. Looks like-" Sam catches himself before he slips. "Rose is right."

"She usually is." Janine opens the door to the Impala. "Let's get back to the hotel, and do our homework."

He nods and sinks into the driver's seat, the doors closing at the same time. He doesn't like this turn of events, but in spite of their history, he's impressed with Becky. 

Sam doesn't like that either.

*

Becky has been in almost constant contact with Janine since she arrived at Sam's hotel. Unlike her friend, she isn't surprised by the Winchester's irritation, because of all people Sam would want to be wrong, it's her. She manages to shrug it off with minimal effort. It is what it is between her and Sam, and no measure of apologies or proof of who she is now is going to change that. 

She keeps her mind on her work. There are calls to answer and stories to write, and of course, there's Dean, who still requires almost constant attention. Down to every three hours, he still isn't healing as quickly as Becky had hoped, and she can't figure out why. For his part, Dean hasn't complained, grits his teeth each time she reopens the cut on his chest and usually manages a smile for her after she's finished replacing his bandage. She notices that he still hasn't turned on the television. As far as she can tell, he's not sleeping any more than she is, maybe even less, and after the second day of updates from Janine, Becky breaks down and asks Dean about his research.

"Is there anything I could help you with?" She points at his book, an introductory guide to Wicca. "I have a lot more advanced texts on just about anything you're looking for."

Dean shakes his head. "Doubt it. I've been through everything."

"If I knew the subject..." She trails off, the hard look in Dean's eyes making her stop. Whatever it is, it's personal. "I'm sorry. I just- If it's important, then... it just seems like you could use all the help you could get."

It hangs between them for a long time, and she watches Dean's face carefully. His expression softens, turns sad and pained, and he lets out a heavy breath.

"I'm sorry, Becky," says Dean. "But I don't even know where to start. I'm looking for...I don't even know what I'm looking for."

"Does it have to do with your necklace?"

Dean doesn’t say anything. In fact, he looks away from her, a hand closing tightly around the legos at the end of the silver chain. Becky wonders when Dean started wearing it and what its significance is, but from the way this conversation’s going, she thinks it’s best if she doesn’t ask. 

“Dean, you don’t have to tell me, but I’m willing to help you.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She sighs. “Was it-” 

“You should get some rest,” Dean tells her flatly, no room for argument in his tone. “Gonna have to take care of this again in a few hours, and you’ve got to be tired.” 

Becky knows when she’s been beat, so she just nods and gets to her feet, ignores the single tear that slides down Dean’s cheek. Whatever happened, the pain is still fresh, and she thinks now she knows why he’s not healing well. She wants to respect his privacy, but at the same time, she worries that doing so may not be the best thing for him.

She stares at her cell phone, wonders if maybe she should call Sam, then wonders if she'd hesitate to call any other hunter's partner. 

That makes her decision for her. 

She doesn't have Sam's number, so instead she calls Janine, who greets her enthusiastically. 

"Good call on the Clays, Rosie. You were right, as usual. What's up?"

"Just the usual. Sam with you? I need to talk to him."

"Sure, just a second. Everything's okay, right?"

"More or less. Just need to ask him stuff about his brother."

"Right, you're taking care of him. Sam, it's Rose, she needs to talk to you."

There's some soft background noise, then Sam's voice comes on the line.

"What's going on with Dean?"

The question is terse, but full of concern, so she doesn't take it personally.

"He's healing, but... slower than I thought he would. A lot slower, actually. We're just now to where I can treat him every three hours. I thought it'd be every ten."

"He's gonna be okay, right?"

The shake in his voice reminds Becky of all the reasons she fell so hard for Book Sam. He loves hard, with no thought for himself, still a little brother just looking up to his older brother. 

"Yeah, Sam. He's okay. I'm just worried. He isn't sleeping enough, always has that Wicca book in his hands, and... it's personal, isn't it, whatever he's researching?" She's nervous, heart pounding as she asks, because while Dean will just look away and tell her to get some rest, there is every chance that Sam will have much harsher words for her. It spurs her forward, talking so fast she almost stutters. "It's not about saving the world this time. It's... is it you? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Sam says wearily. "It's... yeah, it's personal, B- Rose. It is. Dean, though, he's... he's handling it the best he can."

"Sam, if he doesn't get some rest, I don't know how long..." 

"If I need to come get him, I can. It'll be a couple days, but-"

"No, Sam, that's not what I meant. He can, and should, stay here until he's completely healed. I want to help him, and if I don't know what's wrong-"

"You know what's wrong, B- Dammit." There's more background noise, and she hears a door open and then shut. "Becky, he got hit by a poltergeist. The rest of it isn't mine to tell."

"But, Sam, I can help."

"Nothing's gonna help Dean, but I'll call him and tell him to put the stupid book down."

Becky absorbs all this, then takes a chance. "Whatever happened... you don't agree with his research."

She's surprised when he answers, sad and somewhat desperate.

"We've been searching for months, through more powerful books than what he's looking at now. Nothing has turned up. I think... I think that if that poltergeist didn't kill him..."

"You think he'll..."

"Not on purpose, not with his gun. But, yeah. I think so."

They fall silent, and Becky curses the Winchester stubbornness. Without warning, Sam blurts out,

"I don't want to lose my brother."

"Sam... please, let me help."

Another silence comes from the other end. Then,

"Magickal objects. Start there. And don't tell him."

"Tell him what? You're not giving me anything, not really, but I'll look into it."

"Thanks. And, uh, I'll call Dean, tell him to get some sleep."

"Thank you."

Their conversation seems to have ended, and Becky doesn't bother to say goodbye, she just hangs up. The information Sam gave her doesn't answer any of her questions, but then again, the answers aren't really her business anyway. From down the hall, she hears a phone ring, then the muted rumble of Dean's voice. She hopes Sam can get Dean to rest; the man needs it more than even she does.

She goes to her bookshelves, runs her fingers over a few titles, until she finds the one she wants. Not sure when the last time she actually slept was, Becky makes another cup of coffee and settles in.

*

Sam hangs up the phone with his brother, groaning in frustration, banging the back of his head against the brick wall outside his hotel room. The conversation with Dean didn't go well, ended with him being summarily told to fuck off, and Sam thinks the anger may have tired his brother out if nothing else. Sam shouldn't have played the "Pala wouldn't want this" card, but he's desperate. Has been for months now.

Which is the only reason he actually asked Becky to look at anything. If he loses his brother again...they have to be running out of Come Back To Life Free cards at this point.

He pushes off the wall and heads back inside, tosses the cell to Janine.

"Everything good?"

"No. But, it will be. I guess."

She doesn't pry, instead points at the laptop screen. "I've got a candidate for our clay-making warlock. I just emailed everything to Rose. I wanna see what she thinks, but we can go check him out now if you want."

Sam drops onto the chair across from her, feels his agitation start to boil over.

"Why do you need Rose to look at it?"

"Because she knows her shit, and I don't know you well enough to die for you." Janine frowns at him. "What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is people are dying, and we don't have time to waste, waiting on her to check her email. I've been hunting my whole life, I don't need someone else to do my job for me."

Janine crosses her arms, narrows her eyes. "Rose is doing an awful lot for you, Winchester. You could be a little more grateful."

Which is exactly the problem. She's taking care of his brother, saving his ass on this hunt, and now she's taking over some small part of his research. He feels inadequate, and it isn't a feeling he likes, especially compared to his quasi-ex-wife.  
"Her name is Becky," he says. "And I'm grateful for her help, but we have history, and I don't trust her. Not completely, anyway. Last time I saw her, she was two steps away from selling her soul to a demon. Now, she's some... _guru_ known as Rose, living in the middle of nowhere, stitching up hunters and scrounging up lore on shit I've never heard of. You don't know her like I do. If you did, you'd know it's weird."

He could hear a pin drop in the quiet that follows his outburst. Janine is almost vibrating with rage. She shakes her head at him disbelievingly.

"Who are you to be outing her shit like that? What, like you've never fucked up in your life? I've heard stories about the Winchester brothers since I got in, and I know that's a bunch of bullshit, Sam. So she goes by Rose now. You think my name is actually Janine? People make mistakes, and most of us weren't born into the life. Push came to shove, she made the right choice and instead of burying her head in the sand, she devoted her life to this one. She's making a difference. Her business is her business, and none of us are who we were before we got into the monster killing gig."

"All I meant was-"

"You got some balls, I'll give you that. But that woman has saved a lot of lives, including your brother's, so show a little respect, and get your head out of your ass. Think about who you used to be, and ask yourself if you want people seeing you as that. Or maybe you haven't changed, and that's why you don't believe she has. I don't know, but either way, keep it to yourself. Rose, or Becky, or whoever the fuck she is- she's my friend. And I'm not gonna let you sit there and talk shit. You owe her an apology the next time you see her."

She crosses the room and grabs her backpack off the spare bed, slings it over her shoulder.

"I don't know what happened between the two of you, but it happened. Get the fuck over it, because I'm willing to bet she already apologized."

"Where are you going?" 

"To get my own room. I'll come get you when Rosie gets back to me about that warlock. Until then, I've got nothing to say to you."

And just like that, Janine is gone, door slamming behind her, leaving Sam alone with his thoughts.


	29. Six

Two more days pass. Dean's treatment spaces out to every four hours, much to Becky's relief; he's healing, even if it's still too slow for her to feel optimistic. She's managing a two hour nap in between each visit to the guest room, which increasingly feels like Dean's room, and Janine keeps her informed of the hunt's progress. 

And to her great surprise, so does Sam.

He gets her number when he calls Dean, and then the texts start coming in. Between him and Janine, Becky might as well be in Nebraska. She reads the tension in their texts- They don't get along, and for her part, she doesn't comment on it. She simply wonders about Sam's sudden conversation, but she doesn't dwell on it. She keeps her mind on magickal objects.

She makes careful and detailed notes, filling full pages with her loops and curls, writing down anything that could be relevant. Not knowing what she's looking for, Becky writes down almost everything she sees, pressing on through her exhaustion and lack of context.

It's almost four in the morning, and the alarm pulls her away from the book she feels like she's buried in. She stretches her arms over her head, rolls her neck, her muscles creaking and popping in protest. It feels good, if a little painful, and she stands, walks down the hall and stops with her hand on the doorknob. Dean is crying.

She's almost positive he's asleep; she can't imagine him openly weeping in his waking hours. Even if she doesn't know him outside of Chuck's books, Dean comes across as a man who values his control. The most she's seen, or read, of Dean crying is a few tears, quickly wiped and pretended away. On the off chance he is awake, Becky really wants to stay out of that room, let him have his privacy, but she can't. She has to treat him, so she knocks softly and waits a beat before she steps inside.

Dean is shuffling papers on the bedside table when she enters, taking great care not to look at her. His voice cracks as he asks,

"That time again, huh?"

"Yeah, that time."

Becky makes no comment on what she's walked into, merely gathers her supplies and gets to work, looking away from the black oozing out of his wound, and her eyes catch on the papers he's left on top of his book. Usually, all his notes are tucked inside the cover, but there are a few on top this time, and when she sees the handwriting, neat and feminine, Becky puts a few pieces together, especially as she reads what is written.

_ Dean mentioned today that I should let him propose first. I hadn't even considered...But now that he's said something...I guess, that's where all this is headed. I'm in no hurry, and I know he isn't, and that's fine. It's just nice to know how he feels, what he's thinking. That he's mine, just like I'm his. _

And Becky feels her heart break for the man in front of her, for the woman who loved him, and though she already knows, she can't hold the words in.

"There was a woman. And you loved her...You still love her," Becky corrects herself. 

Dean nods silently, but does not offer anything else. Becky doesn't press for more, just bandages the wound again. Hesitantly, she places a gentle hand on his shoulder once she's on her feet, and he clears his throat.

"Thanks, Becky. Got any coffee?"

"Always. You take it black, right?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. I'll bring it to you in a couple minutes."

She shuts the door behind her, turning this new information over in her mind. The woman who wrote those words, whoever she was, Becky knows she's dead now. Maybe they're trying to destroy what killed her, possibly track it down. If she knew for sure, it would narrow her search, but asking for more won't end well.

The phone rings as she's pouring Dean's coffee, and she answers without preamble. It's Janine.

"Hey, Rosie." There's a hiss of pain after the name. "We got the warlock, and we're headed your way."

"Are you okay?"

"I'll live. We patched each other up, but you should probably look at Sam's stitches when he gets there. I'm not as good as you are."

"Be careful, Janine."

"I got this, babe. Nothing a few days of TLC won't fix."

Becky laughs. "That, I can do. Drive safe."

"See you soon, Rosie."

The call disconnects, and as Becky gets closer to Dean's room, she hears his voice through the wood, catches a snatch of a conversation,  _ yeah, I got some sleep, you're right, Paula wouldn't want this, are you sure you're okay,  _ and Becky knows Sam has called to check in with his brother.

She opens the door, offers the coffee to Dean, and steps back out as soon as he takes the mug from her. She can't imagine Dean with a woman named Paula. Then again, she can barely imagine Dean with anyone.

Phone rings again, and it's Sam on the other end of the line. Becky walks out onto the front porch to take the call. 

"Hey, Sam. Janine says you need some new stitches."

Sam coughs a little. "Yeah, uh. Got caught by one of the Clays, but it'll hold 'til we get back to your place." 

"Dean actually slept a little, I don't know what you said to him, but it worked." She waits a second. "Did you... did you tell him Paula wouldn't want him to..."

"Pala," Sam says automatically. Then, "How do you know about her?"

"It was an accident. I saw part of her journal earlier, then just now, I heard what he said to you. I was bringing him coffee."

"So, he didn't tell you... what happened."

"No, and I didn't ask. But, if I knew, the search would go faster. I've been taking notes."

"You should get some sleep. It's been eight months, it can wait."

She blinks a few times to at the unexpected show of concern, says cautiously, "I will, Sam. Um. Pala. She was- she and Dean- they were gonna get married?"

"They weren't engaged, but, eventually, yeah. They would have." A beat. "Look, you've done enough. Get some rest. I should be there later today."

"Be careful. And have Janine check your stitches when you stop for gas."

He laughs, though she doesn't know why.

"See you, Becky."

"Bye, Sam."

She hangs up the phone, stares into the dark morning, the new day just beginning, curious about what other strange turns it holds for her. 

*

When Sam pulls into the garage, Janine's car is already in the driveway. He pats the dash gently, tells Pala softly that Dean is okay, and then walks through to the kitchen. Janine is seated at the table, and she looks at him coldly, Becky on her knees, rebandaging the hunter's thigh. The blonde glances up, takes in Sam's appearance and nods to an empty chair.

"I'll check those stitches in a second," she promises. "I'm almost done here. You did a good job with hers."

Janine snorts. "You're better at it."

"I doubt that," Becky says mildly, rising up from her knees. "Sam's had a lot more practice. You're all set, either way. Just go get in bed, I'll be there in a little bit to check on you."

The hunter grins, shoots Sam a pointed look behind Becky's back, then stands and pulls Becky into a lingering hug that the blonde sinks into for a few seconds, just long enough to make Sam grit his teeth. He doesn't know what Janine is trying to prove or why it annoys him so much. 

Finally, Janine disappears, and it's just Sam and Becky in the kitchen. He winces when he pulls his shirt over his head, then frowns at the blood soaked into the fabric. Becky shakes her head.

Sam says, "I liked this shirt."

"Guess you'll have to buy a new one. That's beyond saving." She steps behind him, lays a cool, soft hand on his back and sighs her sympathy. "Janine isn't very good at field medicine. This looks like shit."

Sam chuckles darkly, because he suspects Janine is better than this, but doesn't voice his opinion. Obviously, the two women are close, and he doesn't want to piss Becky off when she's about to stick a needle in him. But, she lets out a soft laugh of her own.

"Janine doesn't like you," she says. 

"Um, no. But, that's on me."

"You told her who I really am."

"How do you-"

"She slipped and started to call me Becky. We'll talk about it later."

They fall silent as she makes the first few stitches, slow and precise, surprisingly gentle. Sam swallows hard. Her hands stay cool somehow.

"Um. About that. About what I said."

"It's okay, Sam. I called Janine, because I knew she wouldn't care if you called me Becky by mistake, and well- whatever you told her was true. I'm sure of that."

Two more stitches.

"It was wrong," Sam says. "I shouldn't have told her. Shouldn't have said what I said. You're Rose now, and I don't know you anymore. And what you're doing... it's good. I just..."

"To be fair, what I did wasn't exactly the kind of thing that's easy to get over." She wipes at his shoulder blade with a damp towel, then pulls another stitch through. "You don't have to apologize."

"I haven't yet," he points out, hears her answering laugh. "I'm sorry, Becky. What you're doing for my family... I'm grateful."

Three stitches, four, five, and the only sound is their breathing, and Sam concentrates on hers as she works. She wipes his shoulder again, lays it back down. 

"I'm still Becky," she says at last. "That's how I think of myself. That's who I am. Just like you're Sam. But you're not Sam from five years ago. And I'm not the Becky who left Delaware."

"I see that now."

"That's good to hear."

He feels her tie off, then watches as she moves to the sink to wash her hands. She's barefoot, standing on the balls of her feet for no reason, but Sam looks at the slender ankle, follows the line of her calf up to her thigh, where athletic shorts hide the rest of her skin from his gaze. She's pretty, he notices belatedly. Very pretty. 

She shakes her hands off, then dries her hands, and he jerks his eyes up to meet hers when she looks back over at him.

"Normally, I'd offer you my bed, but Janine's claimed that. I'll pull out the sofa for you, though. I think Dean's asleep, but if you wanna check on him, you know the way."

"No, let him sleep-"

His sentence is cut short by a crash from the guest room, and Sam is on his feet a second later, a step behind Becky, then in front of her as he crashes through the doorway. Dean's eyes have just opened when Sam reaches the bed, the green wild and wide, and he grabs Sam's arm.

"Pala. Is she- is she okay?"

"You were dreaming Dean," Sam says, keeping his voice as calm as he can. He hasn't seen his brother like this, understands instantly why Dean has been avoiding sleep. "She's fine."

"I need to see her." Dean sits up, groans as he puts strain on his chest wound. "Now."

"Dean-"

"Sam, don't fucking argue with me, just help me get out of bed."

Becky steps forward, pushes gently on Dean's shoulder, looks to Sam with a confused expression. 

_ Shit,  _ Sam thinks. He knows Becky assumed Pala was dead, but she keeps her questions to herself.

"Dean," she says. "Move slower. Breathe first, then Sam will help you do whatever it is you need to do. But you need to calm down, or you're going to set your recovery back. Okay?"

And Sam watches as, miracle of miracles, Dean listens, reclines on his pillows, eyes fluttering closed as he takes several deep breaths. Becky nods in approval, then turns to Sam. 

"Check his bandage when you get him back to bed, it may need to be changed. There's still another two hours before he'll need me, but with that move, he's probably bleeding now, not just excreting pus."

Sam can't help the face he makes at the phrase, and she nods in agreement, then turns away. He watches her go, then looks sadly at his brother, wishing for a way to help him with this, cursing his inability, the universe at large for playing such a cruel joke. 

"Come on, Dean. She probably wants to see for herself that you're alright," says Sam, easing his brother upright and onto his feet.

"I'm sorry, Sam. You okay?"

So few words, saying so much, and Sam can hear the embarrassment, the concern, the pain in his brother's question.

"Yeah, man," Sam lies, because seeing Dean hurt like this is damn near unbearable. The gouge on his back is nothing compared to losing his family to some witch with too much time on her hands. "I'm fine."

*

Sam's dreams are overstimulating, and he wakes up with perfect recollections of them and a headache. He lays on the couch turned bed, staring at the ceiling fan, Pala's voice still ringing in his ears.

_ "If she were anyone else, you wouldn't be so stubborn about this. She's not the woman she was, and you're not the man you were." _

He sighs, the sound too loud in the absolute stillness of the evening. Dream or not, Pala's right, but he can't admit it to himself. Can't handle the idea that he's actually attracted to Becky, that he wants to get to know the person she is instead of holding on to the memory he has of her. The last year has been strange enough in terms of relationships for the Winchesters. And a crush, he grimaces as he thinks the word, isn't something he has time to pursue. Not with Dean falling apart right in front of him.

The quiet is broken with a sharp gasp, then a whimpered  _ Janine, fuck yes,  _ and Sam covers his face with his hands. This cannot be happening. Except it is, no mistaking Janine's responses or the sounds of sex from down the hall, so Sam slips out of bed and pulls his sneakers on. A run is out of the question, but a walk is preferable, because outside he won't have to deal with the fact that he's undeniably jealous.

He doesn't get very far before the sweat dripping across his wound makes him turn around. He settles for the porch, the swing a comfortable enough perch for now as he watches the sun get lower in the sky. Sam isn't sure what day it is anymore, not that it matters, but trying to figure it out keeps his mind active and off what's going on in Becky's room for a few minutes.

Two weeks ago, Becky Rosen was just a footnote in his personal history. Now, she is larger than life, a consuming mystery and someone he has somehow never met, even though they were technically married. She's smart and capable and beautiful, and if Sam is honest, that's always been true. She wasn't wrong when she told him never tried to see past her flaws. Maybe he isn't the man he thinks he is. Maybe he never was. 

One snap judgment all those years ago, but he reminds himself that he and Dean were in the thick of the apocalypse, and just dealing with what was right in front of them was hard enough. It doesn't help his guilt much, but it boosts his spirits a little. 

The front door squeaks open, and a few moments later, Becky drops onto the swing next to him, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that thankfully smells like her and not Janine. And when did he start noticing what Becky smells like?

"All things considered, you could have said a lot worse."

"Well, Janine stopped me before I could."

"So she said."

When he looks, she's smiling as she leans back and crosses her hands over her stomach. 

"I'm not mad. Of course, it helps that you already apologized." She pauses. "But, I think we need to talk. About Pala."

Sam shifts his gaze from her neck to the gravel driveway, considers his words before he answers. Thinks about the research she's taken over. How Dean listens to her, how Pala would like Becky for no reason other than what she's done for the Winchester family.

Then, he nods. "I guess we do."

She listens with rapt attention as he details the events of last year, her eyes expressive and he sees how she hurts for Pala and Dean, one a stranger and one damn near so, and she tears up as he finishes the story. The sun has long since disappeared, the stars shining in the vastness of the night sky, and that's where Becky's gaze goes, as though she is watching everything he has just told her play out in the constellations. A sad sound, not quite a sigh or a sob, escapes her lips.

"That is... wow." She shakes her head. "Well, none of what I've read is gonna help. But now that I know, I can find... something. Though, I don't know that I can bring her back. I can't believe the Impala is a person. I mean, a real person." Again, she shakes her head. "Jesus. And Dean... Jesus Christ. No wonder he's in such bad shape."

"I don't think there is a way to bring her back," Sam says for the first time out loud. "We've tried every approach, but there's nothing on this. Whatever spell Trisha used, it's lost. And Dean, he's never gonna give up."

"Would you? If it were someone you really loved?"

"No."

It hangs between them. For the first time since Pala changed back, Sam actually feels some of his burden lifted. Becky pats his knee.

"I wouldn't either. I just don't even know how any of this is possible. But, then again, that word doesn't apply to you does it?" She smiles at him, stands up. "I'm going back to bed. Janine's heading out here soon, and I've already taken care of Dean. I think we're down to five hours now, so that's good. I could use the sleep."

"So, he's doing better?"

"A little. I think it was hard on him, to have her gone with you. If you could stay a little while before you head out again, I think it'd help."

"I'm not going anywhere."

She raises an eyebrow, but shrugs. "You're welcome here, Sam," says Becky before she goes inside. 

Sam stares out at the driveway again. Her smell stays behind.

*

Becky wants to cheer when, four days after Janine's departure, the black mass on Dean's chest is almost gone, and she can treat him nine hours apart. She knows he's sneaking into the garage for a couple hours each time she sleeps, but she ignores this and doesn't bother telling him to stay in bed. He's where he needs to be.   
Janine's communication has tapered off, which is normal, and while Becky misses the banter, she finds it easy to push it to the back of her mind. She and Janine are friends, nothing more; they both have jobs to do, and constant contact isn't something they require. 

She shoos Sam away when he offers to help with her research, because everything surrounding this is a mess, and she understands how her mind works, but not enough to explain it. She does, however, accept his offer to take the calls coming in from hunters. All she wants to focus on is Pala. The Winchesters will be leaving soon, probably by the end of the week, and once she's alone again, she won't have the time to devote to this that it requires. 

Cars don't turn human, so most of the lore is useless. Spells that powerful tend to predate modern technology, but Becky finds one that catches her attention as the brothers sleep, Dean in his bed for a change, she starts to gather the necessary materials. 

She thinks about Sam as she rifles through her cupboards. He's acting different toward her, asking her questions, no longer tense or frustrated with her, just appearing genuinely interested. The subjects of their conversations are nothing exciting, but she learns a lot about him, tells him a lot about herself. About her parents and college, and they compare notes about the latter, reminiscing about how laughable the stress of finals are now in their post-university lives. 

It's unexpected, but in a nice way. 

She slips into the garage, sits down by the front bumper and starts assembling her tools. Witch she is not, but this is fairly straightforward, and if it works... this may be the best she can do for Dean, at least for now.

Glad that she took French as her foreign language, the spell's words roll of her tongue, the candles flickering in a way she hopes is a good sign. She stares at the insignia, worrying about her abilities as the spell comes to a close, the flames now bright and steady before her.

She sits motionless for several minutes, becoming increasingly convinced it didn't work.

_ -she trying to do? Is Becky a witch? _

The words have no sound, but she hears them all the same, clear as if they were spoken, reverberating inside her mind.

"Pala? Is that you?" 


	30. Seven

_ You can hear me? _

The voice is incredulous, but there's a note of joy underneath that, and it makes Becky's heart clench. How lonely is must be to have thoughts, to hear loved ones speak and not be able to chime in.

"Yes, I can hear you. The spell is for communication, just sort of a catch all. I thought it might work."

_ I can't believe this. Is Dean okay?  _

"Dean is okay. He's better now that you're here. They should be able to go home soon."

Becky hears a sigh of relief, and she reaches out, lays a hand on the grill, feels a little strange for comforting a car.

_ Thank you, Becky. For saving him. If something happened to him... I don't know how I could… _

The idea of it is terrible. Pala can't die. So long as she remains a car, she will continue on, and Becky can hear the pain in the woman's voice. One day, Dean will die, and if Pala hasn't turned back…

"I'm trying to find a way to help. But, I haven't found anything."

_ Trisha was very thorough. Dean hasn't given up yet. Maybe it would have been better if I had died, then he could move on. But, I want to be here with him.  _

Pala pauses, and Becky can almost sense the breath she would take if she were human. 

_ You were married to Sam. And now, you do this. _

"You can't really go back," says Becky. "Not when you really see what's going on. Or, I couldn't. I almost sold my soul."

_ For Sam. _

Becky sighs. "For Sam. I thought I loved him, but I didn't know him."

_ He's easy to love. _

Kind. Pala's words are kind, and Becky never would have expected that. 

"He is. But, I still shouldn't have done what I did."

_ No. But, I think you've made up for it. You saved his brother. And now this... it isn't a one time spell, is it? _

Becky smiles. "No. There are no limits. I mean, eventually, you just pinch out the flames and that breaks the communication. But, it can be done at any time, as often as wanted."

_ I can talk to Dean again?  _

Hope. Fear. Longing. It amazes Becky how much emotion can be conveyed like this.

"Yes. I'll teach him the spell, Pala, I promise."

_ Thank you. _

Becky swallows down the sudden lump in her throat, nods instead of speaking. The gratitude is so rich, she can almost feel it. 

"Of course."

_ How is Sam's back? He was bleeding pretty bad. _

"He's fine."

_ And the two of you- you're… _

Becky frowns. "We're fine. He's actually talking to me. Asking about my life. And he's been helping with the phones." She shrugs. "I appreciate the help. And it's nice not to feel like I'm intruding in my house."

A gentle laugh rings in her mind, but Pala doesn't speak. Becky's frown deepens. But before she can ask what the woman is laughing for, the garage door opens, and Pala simply says,

_ Dean. _

Excitement. But, deeper than that, love. Becky smiles when she looks at the man in question, his hand still on the open door. He's looking between her and Pala, eyes lingering on the spell's materials. 

"Becky? What are you doing?"

She doesn't know how to describe his tone. Disbelief, sheepishness because he's been so good at hiding his trips out here, confusion. 

_ Tell him I love him. Please, Becky. _

"She says to tell you she loves you."

His face changes rapidly. Emotion after emotion, his thoughts almost written on his features. Pala laughs again inside Becky's mind.

_ Tell him to slow down, I may be a mind reader, but he's thinking too fast. _

"She says slow down, you're thinking too fast."

"You... you can  _ hear  _ her?" Dean's question comes out strangled. 

Becky nods. "I found a way to talk to her. It's not...I know you wanted to... but-"

"Sam!" Dean calls out, loud enough that it will carry to the living room, and then crosses the room, yanks Becky to her feet and crushes her to his chest. She feels him stiffen in pain as she hits his wound, but he keeps his arms around her, and she hugs him back. "Becky. This is amazing. Thank you. Is she okay? Is she..."

"She misses you," says Becky, overwhelmed by the show of affection. "I can show you how to do the spell so you can talk to her."

Dean pulls away, hands on her arms. "This will work more than once? I'll be able to hear her?"

"Clear as a bell."

_ Tell him that he was right- I do like you. _

"She, uh." Becky blushes. "She says you were right. She likes me."

Dean grins, eyes lighting up, and Becky has never seen him like this. He's happy, she realizes.

"What's going on?" asks Sam.

Both Dean and Becky turn their heads, but it's Dean who answers.

"Becky found a way to talk to Pala. They're talking now. She can hear her, Sam."

Sam stares. And then, he is right next to her, pulling her away from Dean and into his embrace, and Becky is in shock, but she returns it, forces herself not to lean into Sam's bulk. She remembers the feel of this, being completely wrapped up in his warmth, but this is  _ different.  _ This means something, this is real, and she pulls away, but his hands come to rest on her elbows. 

"How?" he asks simply.

So, she explains it to both of them, and Sam's eyes widen.

"You're amazing. I can't believe I didn't think of this. I'm so sorry," he says, turning to Dean, who merely shakes his head.

"It's okay." Dean steps forward, lays a hand on the fender, runs his hand over the metal, and Pala sighs in Becky's head.  
_Tell him... tell him to sit down before he hurts himself. Look at him, he's so tired. Are you sure he's okay?_

"He's okay. Dean, she wants you to sit down."

"She's right, man. You look kinda worn out."

Which is true: There's no disguising the dark circles under his eyes or the pale skin, but he looks better than he has since the brothers appeared on Becky's porch two weeks ago. 

Dean opens the driver's door and slides behind the wheel, smoothes a hand over it. He doesn't speak, but Pala does.

_ Me too. _

"She says, me too." 

Tears form in the corners of Dean's eyes, and Becky looks away, to Sam, who is still holding her and she steps away, her head spinning from all three Winchesters' affection. She kneels in front of the bumper.

"I'm gonna let Dean do the spell now, then give you guys some privacy. So long as the flames are burning, you can talk."

Dean nods, Pala hums her agreement, and Becky knows that there's a good chance that her patient won't resurface for a few hours. Looking at his face that has more color than she's seen since his arrival as she pinches the candles out, she thinks that will be the absolute best thing for him.

Looking at Sam's, she doesn't know what to think.

*

Sam wants to talk to Becky, but as soon as the garage door closes behind them, she retreats to her bedroom, and as badly as he wants to follow, he doesn't. He makes a pot of coffee. He's exhausted, but there's no way he's sleeping anymore tonight. 

He marvels over what she's accomplished, how simple the concept is and while tempted to berate himself for not thinking of it himself, he can't bring himself to take away from her triumph, from Dean and his sister's joy. It's not exactly what they wanted, but it's one step closer. He can't even begin to figure out how to thank her. In less than a month, she has changed so much.

And with that thought comes a memory, of Dean drunk at the table not long after Pala first turned back.

_ "Sammy, she changed everything. What am I supposed to do now that she's gone?" _

Irrevocable. That was the word Sam had thought but did not say, and it comes to mind now. Becky changed, and now, she has changed him in ways he has yet to define. The past, his mistakes and regrets- They have never seemed farther away.

Eventually, as the sun rises and no one joins him at the table, Sam grows tired but not enough to sleep, and his thoughts begin to drift, and they drift to Becky, to the way she felt when he hugged her, soft and small. It had been his immediate reaction, to reach out, to pull her close, words failing but his body knowing what to do. She fit there, against his chest, under his chin.

He's in deep, he's realizing. 

Sam isn't sure what Becky is thinking or feeling. She hadn't said anything to him when she walked past, and he wants to talk to her, ask what the look on her face meant. If he shouldn't have rushed at her, wrapped his arms around her. If she's alright.

But, she stays in her room, and he replays the moment in his mind over and over.

*

Home. Becky has had varying definitions of the word over the years. Her parents' house, her apartment, but this house, this town, was the only place she truly felt at home.

Then, the Winchesters wrapped their arms around her like she was family, and now home is a concept she's no longer sure of. She likes her life and her job and her house, but the feeling of home is somewhat off-balance, tilted off its axis, all with two tight hugs and a gentle voice in her mind. This is ridiculous and unfair, and she feels uncomfortable in her skin, like she's suffocating under her down comforter, but she stays in bed, staring at the wall as the sun comes up and her alarm goes off.

For the first time in a long time, she stays in her room past nine, only getting up because it's time to check on Dean. 

She finds Sam asleep at the kitchen table, head pillowed on his arms, long hair obscuring his face, and she can't help the upturn of her lips. He looks peaceful like this, vulnerable, and she debates whether or not to wake him. If she doesn't, he is gonna have a stiff neck; if she does, he may not go back to sleep and she doesn't know what time he finally did. She leaves him be, walks out to the garage as soundlessly as she can, her smile widening at the sight that greets her.

Dean could almost be asleep, but she knows he's not. With Pala able to read Dean's mind and him able to hear her, he has no need to speak. There's a smile on his face, a few tear tracks that Becky overlooks, and he appears better than he did when she left him. 

"Hey, doc," he says. 

"Hey. Let me take a look, no need to move just yet."

She leans into the car, pulls away the bandage and is pleased by what she finds.

"It can actually wait another hour and a half," Becky says, straightens up and lays a hand on the roof of the Impala. "But, you probably should try to get some sleep at some point. In here, if you want, just pinch the candles out first. Fire safety and all that. I've got plenty of extra candles when those get too small. I'll send them home with you."

Dean reaches out, lays his hand on her wrist. "Thank you, Becky. I can't... I owe you. I owe you big."

"No, you don't. Not for anything. This is what I do." But, she pats his shoulder before she turns away. It means a lot to her, to hear him say that and know how much he means it.

"Becky."

She stops and turns back. "Yeah?"

"She says we do owe you."

Becky smiles. "Okay, Pala."

Because, really, how is she supposed to argue with a car?

Sam stirs when she walks back into the kitchen, a soft click behind her as the door shuts. He sits up, rubbing at his eyes as he asks,

"What time is it?"

"Little after nine. Couch might be more comfortable than the table. Bed's still pulled out."  
  
"Think I'm up."

"I was afraid of that. Sorry." She finds coffee already made, grabs Sam's half-empty cup off the table and tops it off. 

"Thanks."

She nods. There's that word again. 

He disappears a second later, and she's relieved. She needs a few minutes to wrap her mind around everything. There's a squeak of protest from the vicinity of the living room that tells her Sam's making the couch back up, and after she makes her coffee, she heads that direction.

He's replacing the last cushion when she clears her throat to announce her presence, and he gestures without looking at her. 

"Can we talk?"

She sits on one end of the couch, careful not to spill her coffee, tucks her legs under her.

"Sure. What's on your mind?"

He sits down next to her, his leg touching hers, and Becky isn't sure what to make of that when there's plenty of room on the couch, but she likes the closeness, even if it does confuse her.

"What made you think of that spell?"

"Oh. I, uh- I know the end game is to turn her human, but this was more immediate. And it's been so long, I just thought that maybe  _ any  _ kind of progress would be better." She sips cautiously at her coffee, still manages to burn her tongue. "It's easy to get lost in a problem, when you've been staring at it for too long."

Sam is serious, looking at her like she's performed some kind of miracle, and Becky closes her eyes under the scrutiny. This is entirely too reminiscent of three years ago, that look in his eyes, but this time, it's not manufactured, and she's not some desperate fangirl.

"Hey, you should probably get some sleep."

She keeps her eyes shut, doesn't argue with his assessment, and he shifts beside her, takes her mug and leans forward. She hears the 'clink' as he sets it on the coffee table. He reclines again, and despite her better judgment, she lets her head drop onto his shoulder.  _ This is nice _ , she thinks. 

"Why are you talking to me like you want to know about me?"

Sam lets out a whoosh of air, and she would laugh if she had the energy. 

"Because, I do. Because, I wouldn't want someone to judge me based on who I was a few years ago." He takes a few breaths, and she takes them with him, feels herself slipping into dreams when he speaks again. "Because, I think- I think you're a good person, Becky. And I like you."

She opens her eyes, lifts her head so she can look at him, searching his face for context, a lot of things bubbling to the surface, old feelings tempered with new ones. She recognizes this rush of being near Sam, but it's different, because now when she looks at him, she sees a man, not a dream come true, and it's better this way. Before she can ask a question or try to make her thoughts settle into something that makes valid sense, there's a loud, hard knock on the front door.

She's on her feet a second later. Time to go to work.   



	31. Eight

Forty-eight hours later, and Sam has yet to see Becky sleep. The woman is a machine, fueled entirely by coffee and non-dairy creamer. She gives up her bedroom to her new patient, a man named Roger who was on the nasty end of a witch's hex, unearths an air mattress for his hunting partner, Shawn, and flits between Dean and Roger and the kitchen where she refills her coffee cup every half hour. Sam makes sure to keep the pot full.

He puts his foot down when he wakes at six in the morning from a two hour nap and finds her pulling out pans to make breakfast. He takes them from her and does it himself, insists she sit down and she almost falls into the kitchen chair. Fifteen minutes later, there's a cry from her bedroom, and she's off again. Her eggs get cold, but everyone else eats. 

He helps as much as he can, following every instruction she tosses his way as she works frantically to undo the hex, and when Roger is more or less in the clear, she drops like a stone onto the couch she bolted from two days ago, coffee mug in trembling, fatigued hands. He takes it from her, and she opens one bloodshot eye to look at him briefly before closing it again.

"Good call," she says. "Last thing I need is second degree burns."

"You're exhausted," he states needlessly.

"That's life," she says simply, arms limp in her lap. "I need a shower, but I don't think I can move."

She looks impossibly small but undefeated, even with her shoulders drooping, and he wraps an arm around her, cautious, and Becky's head lands on his chest. She's beyond dead on her feet, anyone can see that. 

"Hey, Rose?"

She sits up instantly, eyes open and alert, but she doesn't shrug off Sam's arm.

"Yeah, Shawn?"

"Roger's gonna be okay, right?" The young man shifts from foot to foot, tired but filled with the nervous energy of worried family.

Becky offers him a reassuring, if tight, smile. "He's in the clear. He needs to rest before you take off again, then you guys should hole up in a hotel for a week. Or stay here, I'll make the room."

"Thanks, Rose. I'm gonna get some sleep, you need anything?"

"Just to sleep," she replies. "I'm not even sure what day it is anymore."

Shawn laughs, a fond and familiar one, says, "Night, Rose."

"Good morning, Shawn."

Another laugh, then he disappears down the hall to Becky's room, where a twin size air mattress is waiting for him at the foot of Becky's bed.

Sam looks down as Becky reaches forward and takes a long swallow of coffee.

"Thought you were going to sleep."

"I need to go check on Dean. Then. Then, I can sleep."

A second passes, and it's like she just now realizes the position they're in and she pulls away from him, leans back against the armrest.

"Thanks for your help, Sam." 

He nods. "Any time."

She downs more of her coffee, tries to stand and fails, sighs. "Fuck," she says.

"Here." 

Once again, Sam sets down the coffee mug. He offers her a hand, and she takes it, lets him pull her onto unsteady feet. 

"Becky, are you sure-"

"I can handle it, Sam."

He's not so sure about that, but once she enters the guest room, where a sleeping Dean rouses himself, her fatigue is well-masked. She checks his bandage without any of her usual small talk, nods and with a perfectly steady hand, opens the wound on Dean's chest. 

"That should be the last time I have to do that. I'll check it again this time tomorrow, but I'm pretty confident that we're done with this part."

"And the next one?" asks Dean.

"Rest, and a tea that tastes 'like ass' according to the last guy. You'll have to drink it three times a day for a month. I already ordered some more of the root, once it's in, you guys can leave."

Sam tunes out the rest of the conversation, caught up on the word  _ leave. _ It sounds final, and he doesn't like it. He doesn't want to go. Not yet.

Becky leaves the room, and Sam is a step behind her. 

"I think I'm gonna take that shower, put on some clean clothes."

The phone rings, and her eyes fill with tears. Sam feels his chest grow tight. She is so tired.

"I got it," says Sam. "Go."

She sighs in relief, wipes at her cheeks. "Thank you."

"Go," he repeats, squeezes her shoulder gently, then turns away to find the landline.

The call is brief, Sam easily passing on the way to track a rougaroo. He puts the phone down, then starts frying eggs when he hears the shower shut off.

Becky appears a few minutes later, blue shorts and a white tank top, hair damp against her collarbone. He smiles.

"Better?"

"Much."

She reaches for the coffee pot, and Sam clears his throat.

"Maybe no more caffeine for a while," he suggests. "Dean and I can work the phones. You have to get some sleep, Becky."

She opens the fridge, pulls out a half gallon of soy milk, and Sam hands her a plate.

"Let me get that. Just sit and eat."

She looks at him, curious, but does just that, sighing as she sits down. She eats quickly, wolfing down the eggs, and Sam places the glass next to her plate, then takes the chair next to her.

"They're not that good," he comments.

She rolls her eyes. "This could be dirt for all I care. But, it's good. I appreciate it."

She clears her plate in record speed. Sam isn't sure if he's even seen Dean eat that fast.

"You want more?"

"I'm good." She takes a drink of her milk, asks, "Is there... is there a reason you..."

She trails off, never finishing her question, but it's not really necessary. Sam isn't sure how to answer. He takes in her appearance, the dark circles, the red surrounding the light green. He knows exactly why he's trying to take care of her, but he's not sure she's really in any state to talk about it.

"Yeah. There is. But, you need some sleep first. You want me to pull the sofa bed out?"

"At this point, that plate looks like a great pillow," she says, cracking a grin when Sam laughs outright. "The couch'll be fine."

She manages to get to her feet, then leaves Sam alone in the kitchen. He cleans up from breakfast, wipes down the counter, then walks into the living room to check on her. Becky is sacked out on the couch, one arm over her head, half-covering her face, the other draped across her stomach. Sam grabs the blanket from the back of the chair and lays it over her, restrains himself from sitting next to the sleeping blonde.

The phone rings again, and Becky never moves.

*

When Becky wakes up, it's dark. There's no sunlight streaming in from the living room windows, and she opens her eyes, finds Sam sitting in the armchair with the lamp on, the shade tilted so that all the light is on him, none bothering her. It's a small gesture, but it matters.

He's reading one of her favorite books, one from the store she used to work at, a bargain at only a quarter. She pushes herself up, leans against the armrest, legs still stretched out in front of her, and Sam puts the book down in his lap, thumb marking his place.

"I read this in college," he says.

"Me too. What time is it?"

"A little after midnight."

"Shit. Is everyone-"

"Everyone's fine. Roger even managed to eat some dinner. Dean's in the garage with Pala, he said to tell you to take the guest room. I changed the sheets for you."

She takes all this in slowly. "He gonna be okay out there?"

"He sleeps in the backseat at home. He wants to be with her."

"I can see that." 

Becky drops her head back, closes her eyes. It's tempting to go back to sleep, but she isn't tired anymore. Not in a way that will allow her to slip back into her dreams, at least. 

"Becky."

"Yeah."

"You hungry?"

"Not right now." She raises her head, locks eyes with him. "Sam. Why?"

She can't articulate any further than that. That pretty much sums up the entire situation she finds herself in. She's asking herself as much as she's asking him.

He shifts in the chair, leans forward, elbows on his knees, motions with the book to the couch. She pulls her knees up to her chest, and Sam is beside her a moment later. 

"What you did for Dean... I really can't thank you enough for what you've done for my brother."

"You don't have to," she says reflexively.

"Yeah, I really do. But. I, uh. I like you, Becky. You're smart, and you're funny, and what you've built here is really impressive. I like you a lot."

She blinks.  _ Oh, Jesus.  _ She can't believe what she's hearing, a little dazed by both his compliments and his confession.

"You like me?"

He ducks his head, hair falling forward, and he chuckles.

"Yeah. I know... I know that I was a jerk to you, before. And all that shit with Janine- I'm so sorry, Becky. I really am. And if you. If you don't, then I wouldn't blame you. But, that's why."

She can't help it- she laughs. 

"If you had said that, like, three or four years ago..."

"So, you don't."

He sounds disappointed, and she shakes her head.

"It's not like that, Sam. It's... I don't trust myself. I can't be that girl again. I can't be Yecky Becky again, obsessed with some guy she doesn't even know. I made a life for myself, I moved on." She takes a deep breath, forces herself not to look away. She has his full attention. "But, then, you showed up on my doorstep, and then... all this other crap happened, and this has been the weirdest three weeks. Just. Shit. And I do this for a living."

He laughs, but waits for her to continue.

"And there's all these- old feelings. And new ones. Like how now I know the way you take your coffee. You cooked for me. You trusted me with your brother, and you just... you've been here, and I've actually been around you and Dean, and I just... I like you too, Sam."

Because, that's the bottom line, she realizes suddenly. She likes him, but she doesn't like the memories that come with the feeling.

"They really called you that?" asks Sam. "Yecky Becky?"

"Oh, yes. Kids are cruel, you know that."

He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Becky." A short pause. "So. Does this mean..."

"I don't know what it means. Except that I like you. But I can't be-"

"I just want you to be you."

"I don't know if I can be. Not when it comes to you, to us." 

The tears start then, and she hates this. Sam reaches out, cups her face in both palms, and Becky twists, drops her knees, her feet falling to the floor. 

"Okay," he says. "Please don't cry, Becky."

And then, his lips are on hers. Becky moves on instinct, threads her fingers through his hair, tilts her head back to deepen the kiss. It's warm and sweet, but firm, his mouth hard against her own, and he finally pulls away, brushing tenderly at the tears on her cheeks. 

"I'm sorry," says Sam. "I just- I wanted to know."

She can't even think straight, doesn't want to, so she shakes her head.

"Don't apologize," Becky says, tugs on his hair to bring him to her, finds his lips with hers and just lets herself feel good and does not think.

*

Becky's father always called her impulsive, and this is what she thinks of when she and Sam slip between fresh sheets. He holds his arms open, but she just takes his hand, laces their fingers together and lays on her side to face him in the dim light of her guest room.

They keep their voices low as they talk, spilling secrets across the covers. She tells him about her dreams of being a writer, how selling erotica on Amazon isn't what she aspired to, but that she finds it a peaceful escape from the blood and death of her real work. He tells her why he wanted to be a lawyer, admits that being a hunter seems inevitable to him and that he thinks this is who he was meant to be. Back and forth with no direction, they trade stories. 

The sun rises, and Becky steals one more kiss before Sam falls asleep and it is time to check on Dean.

She still isn't sure she can be who she is if she's with Sam, but the sound of Dean laughing at something she can't hear gives her hope.


	32. Nine

Sam opens his eyes, checks his watch and finds it's a quarter til noon, and he's alone in bed. He stretches, knuckles brushing the headboard, ankles slipping over the edge, then rises and pads on bare feet down the hall to the kitchen, surprised to find Dean sitting at the table, eating a sandwich.

"Morning, sunshine."

"I thought you'd be with Pala."

Dean swallows before speaking, which Sam considers a small blessing.

"She." He laughs. "She fell asleep on me, man."

Sam blinks. "She... she's a car."

"Yeah, I'm aware. Believe me." 

Sam flinches, but Dean waves him off before he can apologize.

"She's still a person, and I guess being human changed things. She doesn't sleep like we do, not exactly, and definitely not as often, but her mind needs rest now." There's a second of silence, and Dean smiles. "She dreams about me."

Sam is surprised by what his brother has divulged. It's private, not the type of thing Dean would usually share, but he looks happy, like he can't keep it to himself. 

"That's...kind of amazing," says Sam, not sure how else to respond. 

Dean nods. "I'll go back out there in a few hours, see if she's awake. I really owe Becky for this one. And Pala likes her- says she wants to talk to her, get to know her a little before we leave." He pauses, looks at Sam pointedly. "She wants to talk to you too, bro. She misses you. She said you kept her updated while I was laid up. Thanks for that."

"No problem."

Again, Dean nods, then he clears his throat. "So, about Becky."

"What about Becky?"

Dean gives him a look, one that Sam recognizes from childhood. He never could fool his brother. 

"Sam."

He sighs, lets his face fall into his palms, rubs at his cheeks with the heel of his hands.

"I don't know. I. I, uh." Sam looks up at Dean, who waits patiently. "I kissed her."

Dean grins. "And?"

"That's it."

"You spent the night together, and that's it? Sammy, you're such a romantic."

"How do you know we spent the night together?"

"Cuz I know you. You wouldn't have let her sleep on the couch, and you just came out of the guest room. It's not rocket science."

Sam shakes his head. Now that Dean's said it, it's the most obvious thing in the world. His brother rolls his eyes.

"Alright, spill it, Sasquatch. What's going on there?"

"Since when do you volunteer for chick flick moments?"

"I'm living in one," Dean replies calmly. "Star crossed lovers and all that. This seems pretty straightforward. You like her, right? What, she doesn't like you?"

"She... it's Becky. It's weird between us."

Weird doesn't begin to cover it, not really. From how they met, to their brief marriage and quickie divorce, to their paths crossing again. All of it, from beginning to now, it's a lot to take in, and Sam doesn't hold it against her for not knowing what to do about it all.

"It's a little weird, but I fell in love with my car, who also happens to be my soulmate, so I think you and Becky may actually be somewhere in the vicinity of normal, all things considered." Dean shrugs, gets to his feet, claps a hand onto Sam's shoulder. "Figure it out, Sam. Far as I'm concerned, she's family now, regardless of what happens between you two."

Dean places his plate in the sink, then walks out the garage, disappearing just as Becky enters. The phone rings, and she crosses the room to answer it, Sam turning in his chair to look at her. She tucks the phone between her cheek and shoulder, opens the fridge as she starts answering questions about vampires, pulling out lunch meat and cheese. She motions to Sam, asking silently, and he nods, mouths  _ thank you _ and she turns away, grabs two plates out of a cabinet and starts putting their sandwiches together. 

"You need to partner up with someone," she says firmly. "These aren't the Cullens, and you aren't Buffy... yes, I know those two aren't related, would you just... because they're vampires, not teddy bears, dumbass." She pauses, then looks at Sam, points at the mustard and he waves her off, and she turns away again. "You've been hunting for two years, not twenty, Alexis. And even if you had been, I'd still tell you to partner up with someone... I can put in a couple calls in, it's no big deal... okay. Good. I'll text you later. Bye."

She clicks the 'end' button, drops the phone on the counter with an aggravated exhale and then crosses the floor to the table, puts one plate in front of Sam.

"Thanks. Who was that?" asks Sam.

"You're welcome. That was Alexis. She found a nest of vampires up in Ohio, doesn't like to work with other people." She sighs. "Maybe Janine is in the area, she gets along with almost everyone and she's dealt with vampires before."

Sam clears his throat. "You call Janine a lot when someone needs a partner?"

"I guess. She's easy-going, can lead or follow, and she knows her shit." Becky looks at him like she's trying to figure something out, then, "You heard us."

He doesn't answer, but she shakes her head.

"Not that it's any of your business, but we're just friends."

"I didn't- Fuck."

"Were you... jealous?" 

She makes a sound of disbelief, and Sam grins, embarrassed. 

"That hard to believe?"

"A little, yeah."

"Fair enough." Sam waits a second, but he can't contain himself any longer. "Becky, about last night- if you don't- I know that-"

"I just need some time."

She won't look at him, staring down at the table, and Sam lays a hand on her wrist, prompting her to glance up.

"It's okay," he says. "I just need to know if there's something I can do."

She smiles, small and sweet. "You know, all I wanted for years was this. And now, it's happening, and I don't know what to do. It's you, and it's me, and... it's weird."

"Dean's in love with his car," Sam offers, his brother's words still fresh in his mind.

Becky laughs. "You got me there. But, that's different. It's... epic. It's bigger than both of them. They're soulmates, and we're divorced, after a weeklong fake marriage."

Sam considers this, mulling over the circumstances put into this new context. He hadn't thought to compare the two things.

"Maybe," he begins slowly. "Maybe epic isn't the only way to be. Maybe, two people with a fucked up history, with no reason to ever try to be friends, actually getting to know each other and realizing they like the same books and work well together... the guy figuring out that he was a jackass and the girl figuring out she's a badass... maybe it's not epic, but that doesn't mean it's not just as good."

Becky turns her hand over, her smooth palm against his calloused one, and she smiles again. 

"That really how you see this?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

She dips her head slightly, almost shy, and it's cute, makes him smile, and he shifts forward in his chair, not sure what he's intending to do, only knows that he wants to be closer to her.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Becky lets go of his hand, leans back in her chair. "What are you doing out of bed, Roger?"

''Can't get any sleep with that kid snoring. Besides, you fixed me up good, Rose. There coffee?"

"Of course. Mugs are in the cabinet to the left of the sink."

Becky smiles apologetically at Sam, and he shrugs. There's no rush on this. If Dean can wait eight months to talk to Pala, he can wait for this to work itself out. 

"You hear about Carpenter?" asks Roger, sitting across from Sam and next to Becky.

Her face goes dark, and she looks at the table again, crosses her fingers together.

"Yeah, I heard."

"Can't believe he went in like that, no backup, no extra nothin'. He worked the job for a long time."

"Ten years," says Becky, and her voice is flat. 

"Guess we're all gonna eat it sometime." Roger shrugs. "Damn shame is all. He was a good guy."

"He was." Becky pushes away from the table and stands. "I've been up since midnight, I think I deserve a nap. You take it easy, Roger, and I'll check on you again in a few hours."

"Alright, sweetheart. Get some rest, you deserve it."

She nods, but doesn't reply, and she leaves without a word to either man. Sam looks back at Roger, then excuses himself and heads directly to the guest room where he finds Becky sitting on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around her middle like she feels sick.

"Hey, you alright?"

He takes a seat beside her, rests his hand on her knee. She takes a deep breath and exhales heavily. 

"Carpenter called me on his last job. He was working this case down in Florida, some creature holed up in a swamp. I told him not to go after it, not until I figured out what it was. He said he wouldn't, but I guess I was taking too long. He must have got whatever it was, there weren't any deaths after his, but... I never did figure it out."

Sam wants to say the right thing, but there isn't anything to fix this.  _ It's not your fault  _ never makes someone feel better when a person dies, especially when there's no closure. 

"He was my friend, Sam. And I let him down."

Sam wraps his arm around her then, pulls her against him and kisses her temple, rests his chin on top of her head. 

"That's not true. He made the call to go in alone. He worked the job for a decade, he knew the risks. He could've figured it out on his own or just gambled on silver bullets. But, you didn't let him down, Becky. From what I've seen, you haven't let a single hunter down since you started this."

She leans into him, presses her face against his chest and does not cry, just lets him hold her for a few minutes until she sits up. 

"I think I need to work on something that will actually pay some bills around here. Do you think you can take calls for a few hours, or...?"

"Yeah, no problem." He kisses her forehead, squeezes her arm gently, and then rises to his feet, hand on her shoulder. "You gonna be okay?"

"I just need some time away from monsters."

"Don't we all."

*

From fan fiction writer to Amazon author, not much has changed about Becky's writing, at least not content wise. She won't be mentioning it to Sam, but she tends to stay on the boy on boy side of the erotica community, though she dabbles in other stuff. Gay firefighters bring in a lot of money, God bless 'em. Or Whoever it is that blesses people nowadays.

It clears her head, the predictable plot and steamy sex, lets her live in a fantasy where romance is as easy as a few keystrokes and euphemisms. And it's nice, writing with no interruptions. Usually, the phone is by her side, but she is curled up in her guest bed, the tv on in the background, blocking out the sound of calls coming in. 

It should have felt wrong, asking Sam to pick up some of the slack. Instead, it was easy, something close to natural, to hand over her responsibility, something she's never done before. She chalks it up to these past few weeks being three of the longest she's ever had. Too much emotion and too little sleep, and she's grateful for the chance to escape into a world of her own making.

She doesn't realize how much time has passed until Sam enters the room in sleep pants and a t-shirt, a hesitant expression on his face.

"Room for one more?" he asks, and she nods, moves over on the bed so he can slide in next to her.

None of the nerves she felt last night resurface, just a familiar anticipation coiling in her belly. She tells herself to slow down, reign in the hormones a bit, because this is too new, but it's hard, because she only has two gears: Fast and full-stop.

She still isn't sure she knows how to blend the old feeling of loving Book Sam with the new one of falling for Sam himself. He settles back against a pillow, looks at the tv, then asks if he can put something else on, and she hands over the remote. He flips through a few stations, settles on the History channel. She finishes the scene she's working on, then puts her laptop aside and scoots closer to him, their sides pressed together as they watch a World War II documentary, the commercials filled with things they learned in college classes.

It takes an hour and seven commercial breaks, and then Becky feels the last of her old self fade away, the ghost of Yecky Becky finally put to rest.

She lifts a hand to his cheek, turns his head, and Sam closes the distance between them, but ultimately, it's her who initiates the kiss, bringing them both permanently into the present, and that's when she knows that they may not be epic, but extraordinary is just as good.


	33. Ten

**To: roselocke@gmail.com  
** **From: leslie@thewitchery.net  
** **Subject: Order # 860416**

Thank you for your purchase. Here is the order tracking number so you can follow its route. Please let me know if you have any problems or do not receive it.

Blessings,  
Leslie

*

Becky withholds her sigh as she looks at her order's progress; it'll be here in two days, and then, she will hand it over to the Winchesters so they can leave. She's gotten used to having them around, likes sharing her space with them. More so, she's starting to get used to sharing a bed with Sam. She's not sure if she's ready for him to leave when things are just beginning, but they both have lives to get back to. Lives that hopefully now include each other. 

Shawn and Roger left an hour ago, and Becky has her arms full of sheets, heading into the garage to put them in the washer. It'll be nice to sleep in her own room for the first time in a week, shower in her own bathroom. As she pushes the door closed with her foot, Dean is pinching out the flames on the candles.

"Hey, good timing," he says, standing up. "She wants to talk to you."

"To me?" 

Dean grabs the sheets from her, then turns and dumps them on top of the dryer. 

"Yes, to you. Becky, don't sound so shocked. We all... we all care, okay? And she wants to be your friend. She likes you."

"She doesn't know me," says Becky, crossing behind him to start her laundry. "I mean. Not really."

"Know what might fix that?"

Becky smiles, shakes her head at Dean. "I didn't say I didn't want to talk to her."

"Good. Because Pala's stubborn, and I don't think she'll let me leave without getting to have a conversation with you."

He pats her back, then leaves the garage, and Becky is amazed by the casual show of affection. The few interactions they've had since she showed him the spell have been like that. He treats her in a way that reminds her of the way he treats Sam. 

Ever since they showed up at her front door, Becky can't wrap her mind around her life as a whole. 

She drops in front of Pala, lights the candles and reads off the spell, waits until she hears the soft voice in her mind.

_ Becky? _

"Hey, Pala."

_ I don't know you. That's what you said. And it's true. But, I would like to. I want us to be friends. After what you've done for me and Dean, I can't not.  _

"You don't owe me anything, Pala. It's what I do. I help people. There's no charge for that."

_ Becky, I don't...I don't think you understand. Even if there were a charge, we couldn't repay it. This isn't about checks and balances. You're family now. We care about you. We want to be around.  _

Becky can't think of a single thing to say. She blinks, staring at one of the headlights since she can't look Pala in the eye at present. It's one thing to have Sam take an interest in her, move beyond their past, but to have this woman tell her she's... what, an honorary Winchester? This isn't in the realm of possibility. 

Except, it must be, because Pala's voice rings in her head again.

_ Becky? Listen. I know what you did to Sam back then, and I also know what you've done since. People make mistakes, horrible ones, but there's not a lot that can't be forgiven with time and work. And from what Dean's told me, you've worked hard. You're fighting our fight. You saved my- you saved Dean's life. You gave me back my voice. And Sam... Becky. Why is it so hard- _

"I haven't had a family in a long time," she blurts out. "My parents are gone, and my last best friend turned out to be a demon. I have hunter friends, but we're not. We're passing ships."

_ I doubt that. Maybe you just don't want to believe you're close to anyone, because of what happened three years ago. But even if it's true... Becky, I'll be your best friend. If you don't mind me being a car. _

"I... are you kidding? Of course I don't mind. But, you don't mind that I- to Sam?"

_ If Sam doesn't care, why should I?  _

"How do you know he doesn't care?"

A soft sigh, and Becky can almost feel it; it's so different to talk like this.

_ Because I talked to him. He's very fond of you. It's cute to see. I'm just curious. Do you... How do you feel about him? _

She smiles, tucks her hair behind her ear, a warm feeling spreading through her stomach. There's a soft hum against her temples, and Becky thinks that Pala would be smiling. 

_ Oh. This is good. This is very good. _

And Becky thinks back to that conversation in the kitchen with Sam, to the World War II documentary, to the soft kisses exchanged each morning.

"Yeah. Yeah, it is."

*

Sam slows to a walk at the end of Becky's driveway, the gravel crunching under his feet the only sound. She's in a remote area, the closest neighbor a quarter mile down the road, ideal for their lifestyle. It's a nice place, if not incredibly scenic. 

He missed Pala on his run; he usually does, but after their recent conversation, the feeling is sharper than usual. She had been interested in his relationship with Becky, and while Sam had kept most of the details private, she had still gotten the truth out of him. He wants Becky in his life for the foreseeable future. Permanently. 

Now, if only he could find a way to tell her that without sounding like an awkward teenager. 

Dean's laying on the couch when Sam steps into the house, Wicca book in hand and he looks over the top of it.

"Becky's talking to Pala. Probably about how cute you are."

"Shut up, Dean."

His brother grins smugly, winks at Sam when the door to the garage squeaks open and returns to his book. Becky appears a moment later, glances at Sam, then settles her attention on Dean.

"We're done talking, if you wanna..."

Dean damn near jumps to his feet, book still in hand. "You two kids have fun."

Becky rolls her eyes, but smiles anyway. Dean bumps Sam's shoulder with his own as he walks past, leaving them alone with no further comment. Sam looks at Becky as the garage door shuts.

"How'd it go with Pala?"

"She's very easy to like."

"Yes, she is."

"She said you're very fond of me."

It hangs between them, heavy and expectant, and Sam hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants. 

"Thought that was pretty obvious, last few nights."

"Still nice to hear from someone who knows you."

He frowns, looks into those pale green eyes, confused. "You know me."

"Not like her. Not like Dean."

"They don't know me like you do either."

He likes it when she smiles, the way her eyes light up and her cheeks turn a faint shade of pink. She takes a step closer, reaching out for him, but he raises a hand to stop her.

"I need a shower."

"Can I join you?"

He can't believe how fast the mood changes, how quickly his blood rushes south, or how much he fucking wants this.

"Yes."

She takes his hand, laces their fingers together and takes a step back, a very different kind of smile on her face now. There's no innocence in the quirk of her lips as she pulls him forward, leading him down the hall and into her room. Sam watches her every move, unashamed, hardening at the heat she's giving off, and when they step into the bathroom, he closes the door behind them and turns the lock. 

She lets go of him, turns around to start the water, and Sam pulls off his shirt as steam rises in the air, the spray coming to life behind the curtain and when she faces him again, she grins, brushes her fingers over his tattoo.

"Do you want me to stop touching you?" she asks, and Sam laughs at the reminder of how they first met.

"No."

He grabs her by her belt loops, crushes her to his chest, her hands tangling in his hair to drag him down for a kiss. Her mouth is hot, tasting like coffee and sugar, and he wraps his arms around her tightly, her body arching against his, the cotton of her shirt rubbing against his bare skin the only reason he lets her go. He tugs at the hem, and she moves back, undoes the fly of her jeans, pushes them down her legs and steps out of them, grabs him by the elbow to pull him closer and he bends down far enough to hook an arm under her ass, lift her up and onto the sink counter.

Becky lifts her arms up, and he pulls her shirt over her head, intending to go for her bra next, but he stops, hands suddenly still. She lets out a heavy breath.

"Wendigo," she says, and he glances up briefly before looking back down. "My one and only hunt."

He runs his fingers over the scars, three long and raised lines, running from her ribcage across and beneath her belly button. She should have died from blood loss; it's a miracle she survived.

"Garth must've broken a hundred different traffic laws to get me to the hospital. I don't remember much, just the pain."

His eyes drift up, caught by color, and he finds an orange rose blossom, just below the valley of her breasts, and that's where his fingers go next. 

"Got that not too long after."

"You almost died," he says thickly. "And I would have never known who you really are."

"What, you think you're the only one that's hard to kill?"

"I'm glad you are."

He presses his palm against her scars, tries not to dwell on danger long past. She survived, and she's here, under his hands, knees against his hips, alive and warm and his. Becky lifts his chin up, forces him to look at her face.

"We're wasting hot water."

And just like that, he's in the present again. He reaches behind her, unhooks her bra and she lets it fall down her arms and onto the floor, baring both breasts and tattoo, hopping off the counter, bringing them skin to skin.

"Come on," she says, pulls off her panties and steps aside and then disappears behind the shower curtain, giving him a glimpse of the anti-possession symbol toward the back of her hip.

_ Jesus. _

He's out of his sweats and boxers seconds later and stepping into the tub. Her face is dropped back, hair soaked and laying heavy against her shoulder, and Sam closes the distance between them, kisses her throat, licks and sucks at the tender skin. Her arms come across his shoulders, and she lifts her head, brings their lips together in a scorching kiss, teeth scraping against tender flesh as they try to devour each other. Sam squeezes her hips hard, nails biting into her skin, and she moans, pushes against his pelvis, gasps when she traps his erection between their two bodies, reaches down to take him into her hand, pumping his manhood almost lazily. 

This is all happening so fast, and he thinks maybe he should try to slow their pace, savor this first time. But he wants her so much, thrusting into her strokes, moving his lips from hers to her neck, her shoulder, to anywhere he can reach; now that he finally has her, he can't stop. 

He dips down, separating them just a few inches, kisses the swell of her breasts, then the rose on her chest, tongue licking the water from orange petals, then from a nipple before latching onto it and suckling. He kneels down and both her hands land on his shoulders as he kisses her scars, squeezing tight as he pushes her thighs apart and slips two fingers between her folds. She's so fucking wet, bucking as he touches her clitoris, and she moans his name, loud, and that may be the best sound Sam has ever heard. Two fingers slide inside her easily, and she is tight and hot, groaning as he stretches her out, and Sam bites her thigh gently, just enough to make her whimper in the best way possible. He kisses the red skin, knows she'll probably have a bruise later, likes the idea of that. 

"Sam. Fuck, Sam."

He gets to his feet, grabs her by her hair to draw her to him; he can't get enough of her, of her skin, of her full mouth under his own, and she apparently can't either. Becky claws at his back as she draws him nearer, pressing every part of them together, and breaks their kiss, breathing heavily, and looks up at him with big, trusting eyes filled with need.

"Fuck me, Sam."

He growls, twirls her around and pushes her forward, her hands raising up to brace against the tile, back arching as he runs a hand over her ass. 

"Look at me," he commands.

She cranes her neck, green locking with brown over her shoulder, staring him down. He takes himself in one hand, the other splayed over the small of her back, and pushes into her slowly, letting her adjust until he's completely surrounded by her heat, hand coming to rest on hip. She shifts backward, bringing them even closer, and he groans from deep in his throat, thrusts slow and shallow, experimental, drawing a whine from Becky.

"Fuck," he says.

"Hard," she replies.

And that is all it takes. He pounds into her, and damned if she doesn't meet his every thrust. It's intoxicating, the feel of her wrapped so tightly around him, a perfect fit, their breaths coming in sharp pants as they discover each other like this. This isn't like anything Sam has ever felt before, this narrow focus of him and Becky and water and bright light. It draws him under, into a universe of their very own. He doesn't ever want to resurface.

"Sam,  _ fuck, you feel sofuckinggood.  _ I'm coming, I'm..."

Her sentence is punctuated with a squeal that cuts off abruptly, her mouth open, body tense with orgasm, and Sam is right behind her, her name torn from him as he spills inside her. 

He takes heavy breaths, trying to calm his racing heart as he pulls out, lifting her trembling form up, bringing her back to his chest, her fingers curling over his forearms as she sinks back against him. He holds her tight, kisses her temple, and she turns her head, lets it drop against his chest. 

"Fuck," she says. "I think I need to lay down."

"Your bed has no sheets," he laughs, leaning them both forward to shut off the water, unwilling to let her go even for a second.

"Then we'll lay in the tub. My legs are like jello."

Sam eases them down, Becky cradled between his knees. His arm is across her collarbone, and he smoothes back her hair, kisses the top of her head, reclined back against the porcelain. For all he cares, they can spend the rest of the day in here.

"That was..." She sighs contentedly, snuggles closer into his embrace, tracing circles on the top of his thigh, her other hand linking fingers with the one resting on her shoulder.

"Yeah." 

He can't stop kissing her: Her cheek, the soft skin beneath her ear. 

"This mean I can call you my boyfriend?"

And it's so after the fact, like everything about them seems to be, that Sam can't help his chuckle. He nuzzles the nape of her neck and nods.

"Think so."

*

Once Becky regains control of her legs, she and Sam get out of the tub and onto the floor. He's incredibly tender, drying her off with a towel, running long fingers through the mess of her hair, careful not to hurt her. He kisses her cheeks, then her forehead, wraps a towel around his waist so he can go retrieve his clean clothes from his duffel, leaving her alone with her thoughts. 

She moves a little slowly, getting dressed in a pleasant haze, pulling on yoga pants and a tank top over her undies, replaying the events from the bathroom over and over, lips still swollen, legs still a little shaky. Her stomach growls, and so she heads down the hall, intent to forage for an early lunch when a polite knock at the door detours her. She's smiling when she opens it, but it drops when she sees the brown UPS uniform.

They're early.

She signs for her package and closes the door, an overwhelming urge to cry settling deep in her chest. Becky knew they would have to leave soon, but the timing is incredibly bad. 

Sam is seated at the kitchen table, and his face sobers when she drops the box on the table.

"This is the root I ordered, since I can't send my own stock with you guys. It wasn't supposed to be here for two more days," she tells him, trying to keep the shake out of her voice. "Guess you guys can leave whenever you want."

Sam is up and around the table before she finishes her last sentence, pulling her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin. She burrows into his hug, clings to the back of his shirt, trying to ignore the few tears escaping from the corners of her eyes.

"I have to leave. I don't want to. Okay?"

She nods against his chest, and Sam pulls away, cups her cheeks in his hands, forces her to look at him.

"Hey. Becky, I mean it. This doesn't change anything between us. We'll figure out how to make it work, but we both have a job to do, and your place is here for now. I still want you."

She breathes deeply, nods again, and he pulls her back against him, kisses the top of her head.

"We'll stay until it was actually supposed to get here," he says firmly, and this relaxes her, makes her feel a little more secure in what they've just begun.

It's her who pulls away this time, looking up at him with a small, sad smile.

"Wanna help me make the bed? And then unmake it?"

His grin and the heated kiss that follows are answer enough.


	34. Eleven

Dean makes the offer to stay longer, but Sam declines. More time isn't going to make saying goodbye any easier. He and Becky are going to have to figure out how to do this, how to make a relationship work with their responsibilities. The only way to do that is to jump in.

Telling himself that doesn't make packing any easier. He leaves one of his shirts folded neatly on top of the comforter, then carries his duffel down the hall, setting it next to his brother's before heading to the kitchen, leaning in the doorway to watch Becky putting away the breakfast dishes. She's wearing shorts and his t-shirt, and he figures that one has also relocated permanently to Missouri. He's okay with it, knows he'll be picturing her in it each time they talk from now on.

"Hey," he says.

She glances over her shoulder, nods in acknowledgement, but turns away. She's been quiet all morning. Sam steps forward, wraps his arms around her, rests his chin on her shoulder.

"I'm coming back, Becky. You're not that far away, not even a full day's drive."

"I know that, Sam. I just- this sucks."

"It does. But, I promise, we'll figure this out."

"I know that too." She sighs, lays her hands over his. "I'm just really going to miss you. All three of you, actually."

Dean appears from the garage. "Never thought I'd say this, but we're gonna miss you too, sweetheart. Pala made me promise to come back before a month goes by, so we'll be here."

Becky looks up at Sam, a small smile on her face, and he drops a kiss on her forehead. Dean fake retches, but when Sam looks, his brother is smiling. 

"I'm going to get the bags in the backseat, already got Pala out of the garage. I'll see you out there, Sam. Becky- thank you. For everything."

She steps out of Sam's arms and into Dean's brief hug. 

"Don't forget about that tea, or you'll be right back where you started. I put three thermoses in the floorboard so you don't have to worry about it today."

Dean's smile is bright, and he lets her go. "You're the best, Becky," he says, then walks away.

Sam sighs, and Becky wraps her arms around his neck, pushes up on her tiptoes to kiss him. 

"You should probably get out of here. Don't want to keep them waiting."

"Yeah, I just... hey, look." He stares down at her, serious and concerned. "How much of Chuck's books do you remember?"

She frowns, and he shakes his head.

"I'm serious. Do you remember any of the code words that Dean and I use?"

"Oh. Um. Funkytown means there's a gun on you, right?"

"Yeah. And Poughkeepsie means drop everything and run. Just- in case."

She nods. "No one knows we're together, Sam. I'm safe here."

"I know. I know that. I just can't leave without knowing you can let me know if something happens."

"Well, now you know." She swallows. "So. Go. I'll see you soon."

He takes her hand, tugs her forward, and she walks with him to the open front door, lets him kiss her, slow and sweet and full, until Dean honks the horn.

"Soon," he promises, and she nods in response.

She's still standing in the doorway as they pull out of the drive.

*

Becky refuses to cry, so instead, she keeps busy. She puts the sheets from the guest room in the washer, folds the load of towels in the dryer and puts them away. She makes another pot of coffee and goes to take out the trash, but finds one of the Winchesters already did that. The realization doesn't help with the 'no crying' thing, so Becky pushes on, sweeps her kitchen floor, and eventually finds her way to the living room and pulls a book off the shelf.

She needs a distraction, and Pala is the best one there is. That situation is hopelessly complicated, and it's probably a lost cause, but Becky can't give up. There has to be a way.

She spends a few hours on her arm chair, reading and taking notes, her house remarkably silent and far too empty. It's a relief when there's a knock on the door. 

She manages a smile for the hunter on her porch. She always forgets how tall he is, not quite Sam's height, but not far off. His blond hair seems to have lightened, and he's sporting a sunburn, which makes her think he's been down south. But, his blue eyes are twinkling, like always, and she is glad to see him. 

"Hey, Jimmy. Come on in."

"Hey, Rose. Long time, no see. Now a bad time?"

"Not at all," she tells him, turning the lock, then gesturing. "Get you some coffee?"

"Got anything stronger?"

She nods. "Sure do. I could use a drink too."

She keeps her Patron in the freezer, so that's where she heads, her cell phone buzzing in her pocket just as she grabs hold of the bottle. When she checks, it's a text from Sam, nothing special, just him saying hello, and she writes back, smiling to herself. 

"That somebody important?"

She grabs a lime, two shot glasses, and the bottle, sits next to Jimmy.

"Got your knife on you?"

He grins, takes it out of his pocket and rolls the lime in front of him.

"Yes, he's important," Becky finally answers. "My boyfriend, actually."

Jimmy continues to smile, looks genuinely happy for her. She's glad that he stopped by. It's been a long time since she saw him last.

"You guys been together long?"

"No, but it just... it makes no sense, but..."

"But, you're happy. That's the most important thing, right?"

"That's what they say. So, what about you? This a social visit or business?"

"Why can't it be both?" He pushes a slice of lime to her and opens the bottle, pours them both a shot. "I'm on my way back from Florida, headed up to Wyoming. Thought I'd stop in and see my friend Rose, maybe get her input on the case I found. Shoot the shit for a while."

Becky pours salt on her wrist, licks it and downs her shot, sucks on the lime. It burns just as smoothly as she remembered, knocks off the edge of how much she misses Sam.

"What's the case in Wyoming?"

"Locals suddenly going apeshit on their families. Been a few deaths. I was thinking something that loves chaos. You got a book on that?"

"Yeah, hang on a sec."

Jimmy downs his shot as she leaves the room, and as she looks at her bookshelves, she calls back to him.

"What were you doing in Florida? Finally take that vacation, Jimmy?"

"No, I was working a case down there too. Mysterious death, guy drowned. Couldn't figure it out."

Becky locates the book she wants, goes to open her mouth and closes it when she gets back to the kitchen and finds herself staring down the barrel of Jimmy's pistol.

"Jimmy..."

"It took some digging, but it turns out, Carpenter went to you for help."

"Jimmy, please-"

"Sit down, Rose. We have a lot to talk about."

Becky sits at the opposite end of the table. Her heart pounds so hard it feels like it's going to burst. Jimmy pours another shot and pushes it and another lime wedge toward her. 

"Have another shot, Rose. This is gonna be a long conversation."

"Jimmy-"

"Take the shot, Rose, or I will."

Hands shaking, Becky goes through the motions: salt, tequila, lime. She doesn't see a way out of this. Even if she screams, her neighbors aren't going to hear her. She's completely isolated, with a gun pointed straight at her, held by a man with a score to settle. 

She won't get to say goodbye to Sam.

"Carpenter taught me everything I know," says Jimmy, pouring a shot for himself. "He saved me and my kid sister from our dad's ghost, found her a good family and showed me how to hunt."

"Jimmy, what happened to him-"

"It's not your turn to talk." His voice is sharp, blue eyes cold and penetrating. "Carpenter was a good man. He didn't deserve what happened to him. Imagine my surprise when I found out that it was our very own Rose who got him killed. He thought a lot about you. Thought you were changing the game for the better." He tosses the liquor back like it's water, not bothering with salt or lime, his eyes red when he slams it down on the table. "Guess he was wrong."

The silence is broken by the sound of Becky's phone buzzing. It's a phone call.

"Ignore it," he says.

"What if it's another hunter? You want me to get someone else killed?"

He narrows his eyes, motions with his pistol, and she pulls her cell out of her pocket, tries not to sigh in relief.

"Who is it?"

"It's my boyfriend," says Becky, staring in wonder at the **Sam **flashing on her screen. "If I don't answer, he'll come here to make sure I'm okay."  
  
"Make it quick. And don't even think about saying anything. I'll shoot you right now and be long gone before he ever gets here."

*

Sam gets antsy three hours into the drive back to the bunker, and Dean is more sympathetic than he would have expected, keeps the radio on soft rock instead of putting on Metallica's black album for the nine millionth time. There's a quiet understanding between them, and Sam doesn't feel like he has much right to complain, all things considered, but he appreciates his brother.

He finally gives in and texts her, gets a response to the first but not the second message, and after fifteen minutes, turns the volume down so he can call her. Dean doesn't protest about the long established rule of driver versus shotgun, just grins and pats the steering wheel knowingly, in a way that would be aggravating of Sam weren't so damn glad to see his brother smiling again.

"Hey," says Becky, and the word is a tremble, and Sam thinks he maybe caught her crying, that maybe he should have taken Dean up on the offer to stay. 

"Hey. We're about halfway home. Just, uh, wanted to. Hey."

"Yeah, I'm okay. You worry too much."

Sam straightens in his seat, taps Dean's arm to get his attention, then puts her on speaker.

"Becky? What's-"

"Just hanging out with an old friend. He showed up right before you texted me. Sorry I didn't message you back."

"Are you okay? What's going on?"

"He's been down in Florida. Some, uh. Some real funky town, working a drowning case."

"Oh, shit. Dean-"

But Dean's already cutting across three lanes of traffic to make the next exit. 

"Becky, listen to me. We're turning around right now, we're coming for you. It's gonna be okay."

"I miss you too. I gotta go now, haven't gotten to talk to him in a while."

"Becky. Becky, we'll be there. You're okay, just keep him talking 'til we get there."

"Bye, Sam."

Two words, and he hears the tears in her voice, the break when she says his name, and his gut twists. 

"Becky."

Click.

"Florida mean something?" asks Dean, calm where Sam's mind is racing, counting the hours and miles between him and his girlfriend. "It's pretty specific."

Sam thinks back, still staring at the phone in his hand, replaying her goodbye in his head. She doesn't think he'll make it in time. Those were her last words to him, and they're not enough for him, not for everything that this is and is supposed to become.

"Sam! Answer me!" Dean's voice pulls him into the here and now, makes him focus.

"She lost someone. A hunter named Carpenter got killed hunting something in a swamp. She thinks it's her fault. Guess his partner feels the same way."

Dean sighs. "Dammit, there's not enough shit out there, we gotta fight each other now too?"

"Dean, we're three hours away, and he's got a gun on her. If she-"

"No. Nobody's dying today, Sammy, 'cept maybe that douchebag holding Becky hostage. Got it? We're not losing anybody else."

Like so many other times, Sam simply lets his brother's words be truth. He pulls out his phone, pulls up the GPS to find the quickest route and hopes it will be fast enough.


	35. Twelve

"Turn your phone off. Boyfriend's gonna have to leave a message next time."

Becky does as she's been told, lays her cell on the table, tries to keep her breathing even. Sam isn't going to get here in time, not unless Jimmy has something more than a bullet planned for her, and truthfully, she'll take that over anything else. The look he's giving her is frightening, and she barely recognizes him as the man who sat down with her a half hour ago. 

"Jimmy," she tries again. "Jimmy, I told Carpenter to wait. I told him not to go after it. I cried when I found out. It broke my heart, he was a good man, he was my friend-"

"You need to shut your mouth, Rose. You're not helping yourself."

"You're going to kill me whether I shut up or not. I might as well say what I have to say." The certainty of his plan makes her brave. Becky has nothing to lose by speaking. "He told me he wouldn't go after it, not until I figured out what it was. I don't know why he did. I tried, I would have never sent him in blind-"

"Shut up!" Jimmy gets to his feet, moves the Patron bottle to the counter, then motions with his pistol. "Get on the table."

"No way." Becky shakes her head.

"It wasn't a request, Rose. It's time you learn a lesson, time you learn what it's like to actually be in the life, instead of sitting in your house, safe and sound."

"Carpenter wouldn't-"

"He's dead. You don't get to speak for him. Get on the table." 

Jimmy's voice is cold, no room for argument. Becky doesn't speak or think, she just goes on instinct, more than willing to risk a bullet in the back rather than face whatever her captor has planned. She rushes out of her chair, running for the door, but she only makes it four steps before Jimmy crashes into her. The wind is knocked out of her, and she's almost positive she feels a rib crack when she hits the floor beneath his weight. She struggles, manages to twist so they are face to face, claws at him, kicks at whatever she can reach, scrabbles back as he loses his hold. 

Jimmy grabs her knees, jerks her back toward him, then twists her long hair in his fist, slams her head into the tile. It stuns her, pain exploding through her temple, and still, she moves, reaches for him blindly, but he's moving away now, reaching in his pocket and unearthing what looks like a remote. A taser, she realizes a second too late.

The world goes black after a hot spark of agony.

*

Becky comes to flat on her back, a hand shaking her roughly, and she tries to sit up, but can't. She is tied, hands and feet and waist, to her kitchen table. Her head aches, and she struggles to focus around the concussion. 

Jimmy frowns down at her. "Why couldn't you just get on the table?"

"Would you?" she asks. 

His laugh is a harsh sound, no joy in it, and he sits in a chair, making them eye level. 

"Guess not." 

He leans back, comfortable and in control. And why shouldn't he be- he has what he wants, has plenty of time to do whatever it is he wants. Becky wishes she knew how much time has passed, because then she would know if Sam might be close enough to make a difference. 

"I read the coroner's report," says Jimmy. "Carpenter drowned. Now, there isn't a lake or anything around here, but I wouldn't want to just drop you in. I want to actually watch you suffer like he did."

She swallows, keeps silent. There is nothing left for her to say. Jimmy gets to his feet, and she follows him with her gaze, sees him pick up a washcloth, then lift a bucket onto the tabletop, hears the slosh of water inside. She breathes shallowly, heart racing, and Jimmy's face is one of determination as he lays the cloth over her face, presses down on her forehead to keep it tilted back even as she struggles.

She breathes liquid, swallows and gags, tries to scream, but can't. Becky coughs and cannot take in air, only liquid, water rushing past her ears and over her neck and shoulders. The bucket shifts as it loses weight, bumps her arm, but she barely feels it. She pulls at her bonds, tries to free herself, lungs burning. 

And then, the water stops, the cloth is removed. Her first breath is a sharp pain, met with a cough, and she vomits water and bile, takes in deep gulps of air.

"Please-"

But, it doesn't matter. Whoever Jimmy was before Carpenter's death is long gone, and her desperate plea is ignored and the cloth replaced.

There is no escape, only water and the need to breathe.

He stops to refill the bucket, and she pants, trying to fill her lungs as quickly and deeply as possible. Tears blur her vision, fear and pain coursing through her like a drug.

"We were... friends. Me and you. How... can you..."

"He was family."

She whimpers, takes in several more shallow breaths.

"You were a good person once."

"I still am. I don't pretend to be something I'm not. You act like you're part of this fight, but you never get your hands dirty, never actually get in the thick of it. People are dying out there, and Rose gets to sit back and read books."

She looks into his eyes, sees the monster that's been hiding behind the man, and she knows she is well and truly lost. There will be no reasoning with him, because at some point, he quit hunting and started killing.

But still she says, "Please."

There is no reply, and Becky does not pray as she begins to drown, as her chest seizes with need, and her muscles lock. The entire world is water; there is no god here.

*

Empty bucket. Breathe heavy. Breathe fast.

Full bucket. Swallow. Choke. Every second is the last.

Empty, cough.  
Full, vomit.

Faucet on. Heavy thoughts. Impossible to focus. How much time has passed.

Faucet off. Survive. Heart pumping overtime. Throat raw.

On. Living.

Off. Dying.

Was there ever a place and time when she was dry?

Gurgled screams. Rope burns, a strange itchy feeling of blood on her wrists. A silly discomfort of cotton laying too heavy on her chest. 

Why hasn't he killed her yet. Why doesn't he just do it. Why why why.

*

He seems to get bored after a while, sits down again, and Becky doesn't look at him. She just cries, fighting to breathe, to keep living, but it's harder than it was. She can't restrain herself, and she begs him to end this, to let her go or kill her, just no more, please. No more. 

His silence and stillness are unnerving, and she can feel him watching her break down, sobs and hoarse words, her body aching and unresponsive to her commands. Becky is done. She will never see Sam or Dean again. Never hear Pala's voice again. 

She is going to die.

Her life doesn't flash before her. When she opens her eyes, she sees the ceiling, not her past. There is only this and the future she could have had. There is no memory to take comfort in, just the cold reality of wet clothes and a man sitting beside her who is going to end her, hopefully sooner and not later. Hopefully with a bullet. 

The faucet turns on, and Becky sobs.

There is no hope in this house.

*

"Please," says Becky, though speaking hurts. "Please, enough."

"Soon," Jimmy replies. "But not yet."

*

He stops a second time, and even though she's still crying, she's a little calmer. She made it three years in the life. Where is it written that only twenty years makes an impressive career, she thinks a little disconnectedly. She saved a lot of lives. She and Sam made good feel epic. There are worse legacies to leave behind.

As Jimmy lets her breathe, she thinks about Sam. His soft brown eyes, the way his hair falls in his face, how he feels next to her. Debates with a drifting sort of sense if it's possible to fall in love for real in so little time, decides she'll never know, makes her peace with it as she cries. She got more than she ever dreamed of.

She doesn't struggle when he places the cloth over her face this time.

*

Becky may be ready to die, but her body is more reluctant. As soon as the first swallow chokes her, she fights again, clings to the life burning through veins. 

How much time has passed? 

How much longer?

*

Her muscles seize up, joints locking, and she lays frozen beneath the bucket. There is no fight left in her. Just panic, just pain. 

There's no calming herself, no going somewhere else in her mind. Nothing but wave after wave crashing down on her, rushing into her mouth and throat and lungs, filling her ears. 

Only a litany of confusion, of too much at once, just  _ no please, not like this, Sam, Sam, let it be over, let this end, not yet, Sam, Dean, Pala, Sam, air air air air air, breathe, need to, please please, end it, save me, please, Sam _

Flood upon flood with no end. And she has nothing to offer up, nothing that will save her, and so she doesn't know why she says it.

"My name is Becky," she tells Jimmy.

He stops filling the bucket, and she actually looks over at him and nods, swallows hard and takes in a breath that makes her chest hurt.

"My name is Becky Rosen," she says, words cracking from the strain. "That's who you're killing."

Jimmy crosses the room, straddles the chair closest to her, a hint of curiosity making him look more like someone she recognizes. 

"Then who's Rose?"

"Me. I'm Rose, but my name is Becky. I'm Becky."

"You're fucking with me."

"No. First rule of hunting, always know what you're after." Becky coughs. "I want this to end."

He nods. "I get it. Okay, Becky. We're almost done here."

She nods, tilts her head back, tears streaming down, and Jimmy returns to the sink.

Becky worked hard to get away from herself. She changed her name and her location, left Pike Creek in the dust to become a woman named Rose in Missouri. She became the best version of herself. And now. Now, she can't die as that woman, because she is only part of the story. 

She has to die as herself, as Becky Rosen. 

"What are you." Another cough. "What are you going to do with me? After?"

"Leave you for the cops to find," he says calmly. "It'll probably be a while before anyone comes looking for you. You ever seen a weeks old body?"

"No."

"They're not pretty. You'll swell up. The flies'll find you, other shit too. I'll be long gone by then, of course. I guess they'll do whatever it says in your will. If you don't have one, I don't know what they do then. Guess that'll be up to your boyfriend."

She swallows. "He'll look for you."

"He won't be the first."

"He'll be the last."

Jimmy lets out a bark of laughter, then slams the bucket on the table, looks down at her almost kindly, dark humor in the lines of his face.

"We all gotta go sometime. And yours is now, Becky."

Cloth, water, choke.


	36. Thirteen

Sam can't sit still. There are still too many miles to go.

"Maybe we should have called the cops," he says.

"We went over this. We don't know enough. Could just be a guy with a grudge, could be a demon in a meatsuit. Either way, a cop gets killed, and worst case, he gets spooked and Becky doesn't have a chance. She's tough, Sam. She'll keep him talking 'til we get there."

It isn't comforting, but it's true. 

He restrains himself from calling her, makes himself trust in her ability, and watches the mile markers go by. They can't speed too much, can't risk drawing the attention. Luckily, the traffic around them is moving fast enough that they're making good time. Another twenty minutes at the most, and they'll be there.

"How do you wanna play this, Sam? There's only two ways in."

It's hard to think strategically, wondering what he's about to walk in on. 

"If she's-"

"How do you want to go in, Sam?" Dean asks. "I can pick the front lock on the door pretty easy. It's quiet and quick, and I'm thinking that's our best option. Unless you're wanting to try breaking one of the windows. You gotta pick, man. I'm gonna park down the road so they don't hear the engine. What do we do after that? If this were any other job, what would we do?"

"It's not any other job! That's my fucking girlfriend, trapped in her house with some psycho-"

"You think I don't know that? I've been where you're at, Sam. I sat in the same seat you're sitting in, not knowing what I was going into, not knowing if my girl was alive or dead, and you were the one who made me think, so I'm making you think now. You don't, you're gonna get us all killed. So, I'm asking you again. What are we gonna do when we get there? I'm with you all the way, little brother, I just gotta know what way that is."

Sam balls his hands up into fists to stop the shaking, stares down and watches his knuckles turn white. His nostrils flare with how deep his breaths are, and after a long minute, he says,

"Pick the lock on the front door. Go in quiet."

Dean nods, reaches out to squeeze Sam's shoulder. "Good. It's gonna be alright, Sammy."

"Yeah. Just. If-"

"It's gonna be alright," Dean repeats.

Sam doesn't argue. He wants Dean to be right.

*

There's a truck parked in front of Becky's house, which gives Sam the slightest amount of hope. Whoever it is hasn't left yet. It takes Dean less than a minute to pick the lock, and he looks at Sam before he opens the door and lets his little brother in ahead of him. Sam has his gun in his hand, and a quick look at the living room shows it empty. There's a sound from the kitchen, a heavy splash and a wet choke, and he rounds the entryway a second later, Dean on his heels. 

The sight that meets him is one of horror, an unknown man standing over Becky's bound form, pouring a bucket with one hand, holding her head in place with the other. Sam sees red for an instant, then crosses the room in three steps, tackling the man to the ground. Above him, he hears Dean move, speaking to Becky, but not her, not even a gasp. He's too late.

The man spits curses at him, fights back, but Sam is bigger, more adept, and he is  _ pissed,  _ the last three hours of fear changing into something far more dangerous. Sam loses his control, a ringing in his ears as he wrestles with the man who killed his girlfriend, 

_ Becky is dead, she's dead, she's dead, BeckyisdeadBeckyisdead _

fists meeting easily broken flesh, knuckles splitting as he beats this bastard savagely, until Dean grabs his arm and pulls him hard, jerking him to his knees.

"Sam! Sam! Becky needs you a lot more than this guy does."

"Becky's-"

"Look, Sam, look! She's okay, she's breathing!"

And Sam looks to the table, finds Becky wide-eyed and shaking, but sitting upright and breathing and  _ alive.  _ He uses his brother as support, gets up from the ground and stumbles over his feet in his haste to get next to her.

Her eyes are red, blond hair soaked and tangled, yet Sam thinks he has never seen her look more beautiful.

"Sam," she whispers.

"I thought- I didn't hear you- I thought you were dead."

She nods. "So did I."

He's afraid to touch her. She looks scared out of her mind, so he resists the urge to pull her tight to his chest, instead shifts so that they are shoulder to shoulder before he wraps an arm around her. Becky sinks into his chest, wet and cold, hot tears caught by his shirt, and she trembles under his hold, soft little whimpers escaping, and he rubs her arm, tries to warm her a little as Dean deals with the bleeding man on the floor, tying his wrists behind his back tighter than necessary. 

"What do you wanna do with him?" asks Dean.

Becky tries to speak, but her voice gives out, and she coughs violently. It takes her a solid minute to quiet and take a deep, ragged breath.

"Call the cops," she rasps. "I don't want any bodies buried."

Dean nods and pulls out his cell, and Sam tilts Becky's chin up, strokes her cheek with his thumb, coming down from his adrenaline high. He is so grateful that she's alive, that she's safely in his arms. 

"Sam," she wheezes. "Please help me. I need dry clothes. I can't- I can't fucking- Sam."

"Hey, hey. Come on. I've got you."

She tries to stand, but loses her balance instantly, and Sam scoops her up, cradles her to him, and she buries her face in his neck. He carries her down the hall to her room, places her gently on the bed, then kneels before her, grips the hem of her shirt and balls it up.

"I'm not gonna let it touch your face. Just trust me."

She nods, tears streaming down her face. Sam maneuvers carefully, gets the shirt over her head quickly, letting it drop to the floor in a puddle. Next is her bra, followed by her shorts and panties, doesn't comment on the yellow staining the white cloth, and Sam lifts her up again, takes her into the bathroom and sets her on the closed toilet seat. He grabs a towel and runs it over her skin firmly, taking great care to get her dry as fast as he can, then covers her hair, doing his best to gently wring out most of the moisture. 

She's able to stand when she tries, clinging to Sam's elbow. Back in the bedroom, she sinks onto her comforter and points weakly to the correct drawers of her dresser. He helps her into a pair of sweats, then grabs his shirt he left her just this morning from the pillow and shrugs out of his hoodie. She slips into both, then asks for socks, and he gets those too, kneels in front of her once again to tug them onto her feet.

"Anything else?" Sam asks, and when she shakes her head  _ no _ , he stands up and offers her a hand. 

They wind up on the couch, her head on his chest, legs tucked up under her. She is completely spent, body shaking, her full weight sinking onto him, and he revels in the feel of her against him. She's alive; the rest they'll deal with one step at a time.

They spend a half hour with the local police, and then Sam gets in the backseat with Becky so Dean can drive them to the emergency room. The cops phone ahead, and they don't have to wait when they get to the hospital. Dean disappears in search of the cafeteria while Becky is admitted and subjected to a series of x-rays that Sam can tell frighten her. He stays as close to her during each examination as he can. Eventually, the doctors decide to keep her overnight for observation, but say they think she's in the clear, offer to send a counselor to speak with her but Becky declines. Sam glares when one doctor opens his mouth to argue, and a second later, the man's jaw snaps shut.

For the first time since he called Becky, Sam feels himself relax. 

She's stopped crying for the time being, and Sam pulls a chair next to her bed, takes her hands in his and kisses them both.

"I was so scared, Becky," he says. "I thought I'd lost you."

Her voice is flat when she replies, "You almost did. I gave up. I couldn't do it anymore. If you hadn't showed up when you did..."

Sam blinks hard, won't let the tears come.

"It's okay now," he reassures her. "You made it, Becky. I'm here now, I'm not going anywhere."

She nods. "Can you get my clothes? I don't like this gown."

Sam does as she asks, dresses her, and she is compliant, barely able to move on her own. The sleeves of his hoodie barely leave her fingers visible.

"Will you hold me?"

Sam gets into the too small hospital bed, folds himself into an awkward angle so he can wrap his arms around her. She curls into him, and so softly, he almost misses it:

"I never thought I'd be dry again."

He doesn't have anything to say to that. He just holds her tighter, both of them shaking from the day's events.

"What do we do now, Sam?" she asks.

Sam kisses the top of her head, holds onto her with all the strength he has. 

"I don't know," he admits. "But we do it together."

This seems to satisfy her, and she burrows into his embrace, clinging to him as though to life, and quietly cries herself to sleep.

*

Becky wakes from nightmares, trying to scream, but she can't get enough air. She's drowning again, she thinks.

Sam is there, though, palming the back of her head, taking exaggerated breaths, tells her  _ breathe with me breathe with me,  _ and she does until she can do it on her own.

"I gave up," she tells him though she already has before. In the moment, it had made a kind of sense, but now it horrifies her.

"I can't even imagine what you went through."

"He said I never get my hands dirty. And he's right. I stay in my house, went on one hunt and quit. I gave up then, just like I gave up on that table." 

"Becky, no."

Sam pulls away, and she stares into his eyes, the brown deep with emotion. Becky feels empty.

"Becky..." His voice is soft, and he tucks her hair behind her ear, his movements slow and gentle. "Becky, you get your hands dirty all the time. You may not be a hunter, but what you do is just as important. It's what Bobby used to do."

She sighs, a hollow feeling in her chest, and she rubs hard with her knuckles at the space over her heart. She read about Bobby, and more than one hunter has talked about the man, in tones reserved for legends.

"I'm not Bobby Singer," she says.

"No. But you're still important. You're important to me. And if you say you gave up on the table, okay. It's okay, Becky."

"How is it okay, Sam? How?"

"You almost died, and you made peace with it. There's no shame in that. But you didn't die. You're here, with me." He stops, looking lost, but when she doesn't speak, he pushes on. "You survived, that's what matters. Becky, I'm here, and I'm not leaving. There's nothing you can tell me about today that will make me think less of you." He presses his lips to her forehead, lingering there against her skin, warm and solid and good, and she sighs again, less empty now, but not much. 

"Becky..." He pulls away, looks down at her, hesitating, unsure of himself. "When I... I thought you were... Becky, I know that we- that it's-"

She frowns. "What, Sam?"

"I love you, Becky. I love you, and if I had never gotten the chance to tell you..." He shakes his head. "But I do have the chance, you're alive, and that's the most important thing. I love you."

And the empty ache in her subsides somewhat, but it's too much for one day, and she feels herself grow tired, drained and done, but she forces her eyes to stay open long enough to reply.

"I love you too, Sam."

There's more she wants to say, more she needs to, but she can't, doesn't have the strength to fight the fatigue. Sam draws her into his bulk, tucks her head under his chin.

"This is stone number one," he tells her. "We'll build the rest on that."

She falls asleep seconds after, and when she wakes again, Sam is still there.


	37. Epilogue

It takes time, and the nightmares are the easiest part. She can wake up from them; she can't escape her life.

Jimmy kills himself in the holding cell, and she weeps for the man he used to be. Sam doesn't comment. He just holds her and lets her cry.

She manages to get by on sponge baths and dry shampoo for a while. The sound of rushing water makes her cringe. Eventually, though, she can't put it off any longer, and the first time she takes a shower, Sam steps in first, stands between her and the spray, talking to her softly for what feels like a long time, waiting for her to summon her courage so she can trade him places. It's terrifying, but the heat makes it bearable, though not by much. Sam has music on in the bathroom so she can keep track of time, and that helps as well. He holds his hands above her forehead as she washes her hair so she can keep her eyes open and locked on him. After that, he switches their positions and washes her body, then carries her to bed, hair wrapped in a towel to keep the damp off of her skin, robe tied securely around her to keep her warm.

The first time she walks into the kitchen, her legs give out, and she feels like she can't breathe. When she sees the bottle of Patron, she gets up and crosses the room just to throw it into a wall and watch it shatter. She bursts into tears as the glass hits the ground, and Sam comes running, pulls her to the safety of the living room. It's another three days before she even attempts to go back in, and this time, Dean goes with her, escorts her to the garage so she can talk to Pala, who upholds her promise to be Becky's best friend. Her voice is just as comforting as a hug.

Dean catches wind of a werewolf hunt up north, and Becky insists that they go. She has to be on her own at some point, but they won't leave her alone, so they rent a car and leave Pala behind, and Becky sleeps in the backseat until the brothers return. 

It isn't easy, but stone by stone, she and Sam rebuild. 

Her first night completely by herself, all three Winchesters gone back to Kansas, she feels like she's coming out of her skin. She jumps at every sound, barely manages three hours of sleep, strangely grateful to every hunter who calls for information during that week. She reads more books, keeps searching for a way to change Pala back and finds absolutely nothing, frustrating her beyond what she can handle, forcing her to put her research away.

The next time Becky sees Sam she tells him she doesn't think she can stay in Missouri anymore. When he's not here, it feels like the walls are closing in on her.

And so, five months after Jimmy's suicide, she finds herself staring at moving boxes stacked taller than she is, a Uhaul truck backed up to her front porch. By this time tomorrow, she'll be a Kansas resident.

Sam smiles at her as he walks back inside, slides an arm around her shoulders and pulls her in for a kiss, bringing a smile of her own to her face.

"Rose had a good run here," she says.

He nods. "She did. Are you ready to be Becky full time again?"

She shrugs out from under his arm, turns to face him straight on and lifts up on her toes to kiss him again.

"Yeah," she says. "Think so."

And just that easy, Rose fades away like Yecky Becky did, leaving in their absence the one person she was always meant to be.

**The End**


	38. Close Enough

**The Hunters’ Rose: Close Enough** **   
** _ **Sam knows exactly how lucky he is. ** **   
** **(Set approximately five months after the epilogue of THR.)** _

* * *

Sam is focused on his laptop, frowning at the possible case in front of him. He and Dean chase a lot of wild geese, and he doesn’t want to do it again if he doesn’t have to. Especially not if it means leaving the blonde sitting next to him, pouring over old Men of Letters texts like they hold salvation in their pages. Since Becky moved into the bunker, they’ve spent a lot of days like this, side by side, digging through their separate research, and somehow, it still feels like it’s not enough time together.    


Not after Jimmy. Not after Sam almost lost her earlier this year.   


He lays a gentle hand on the back of her neck, massaging the tension there as he continues to read about the mysterious drownings off the Virginia coast. Could be their kind of job, could be a particularly vicious undertow that the locals are ignoring. Either way, Sam thinks it’s worth looking into, whether he likes it or not.    


He sighs, leans back in his chair, turning his focus to his girlfriend, stroking the side of her neck lightly as he watches her work. She has three different books, a laptop, and a notebook spread out in front of her, pen held in her fingers lightly tapping out a rhythm while she reads. She’s determined to bring Pala back; some days, she’s hopeful. Others, she’s just relentless.   


Becky tosses her pen in agitation and drops her head into her hands. Sam slides hand over her shoulder, scoots to the edge of his chair so he can place a gentle hand on her elbow.   


“Maybe it’s time for a break.”   


She shakes her head, rubbing at her temples. “Dean needs a break,” Becky replies. “He spends more time in the garage than he does in here. And now, with the Mark… He needs Pala more than ever.  _ We _ need her.  _ She _ needs to be here.”   


“And she needs you to be okay,” Sam reminds her. “So do I. Come on, we’ve been at this for hours. Let’s take a break.”   


Becky gives a reluctant nod, looks up and offers him a smile, light green eyes soft with affection.   


“Find anything?”   


“Not sure what yet, but yeah. Over in Virginia.”   


She goes completely still beneath his hand, diverts her gaze to the tabletop. Sam squeezes her shoulder. They’ve had a run of good days, and he knows she’ll be alright here by herself, but it’s moments like this that remind him that there are several more bad days ahead.   


“Becks? I can make a few calls, see if anyone’s closer than we are. This may be nothing. I can stay.”   


She doesn’t answer right away, still pointedly looking anywhere but him.   


“You’ve gone on jobs,” she says finally. “I’ll be fine.”   


“Doesn’t mean I have to go on this one. Hey, look at me, please?”   


She turns to face him, and he takes her hands in his, stroking her knuckles tenderly. There’s resolve in her expression that makes him feel marginally better, reminds him of all the reasons that made him fall in love with this stubborn, strong woman.   


“Becky, there is nothing more important than you. Nothing. Dean and I can sit this one out.”   


She’s quiet, eyes calculating, and then she says, “Only if you can find someone else. If you can’t, you should go.”   


Sam nods. “Sounds fair.”   


Becky pushes her chair back from the table, and Sam pulls her into his lap, threading his fingers through the loose blond hair before settling his hand against the line of her jaw, brushes her bottom lip with his thumb. She starts to relax again, smile playing at the corners of her mouth.   


“I love you,” Sam tells her, taking comfort from her steady warmth in his arms, grateful she’s still here to hold.   


“I love you.”   


She leans down to capture his lips in a soft kiss, hand brushing his hair out of his face then lingering against his cheek. Sam parts his lips, eases his tongue against hers to taste coffee and creamer, tugging her closer to him, wanting her as near as she can be. His palm fits perfectly around the curve of her waist, fingers playing with the material of her shirt then slipping beneath its hem to touch her bare skin.   


“Becks,” he says, pulling away to kiss her cheek, then the soft spot behind her ear. “I want you.”   


“Bedroom?” she suggests.   


Sam lifts her into his arms when he gets into his feet, not willing to let her go, which she doesn’t seem to mind. She nibbles at his neck, kisses his throat, hanging onto him as he carries her out of the war room and through the kitchen. When she bites down on his earlobe, he puts her on her feet and traps her between himself and the wall, deciding the hall is close enough. He can’t wait a second longer.   


She grabs him by his shirt, pulls it up, and Sam yanks it over his head, groaning when her mouth attacks his bare chest, hooking her fingers into his belt loops, thumbs slipping into the denim, beneath his boxers. He steps forward, tilts her chin up so he can claim her lips for himself, licking the lower one before sucking it between his teeth. Sam grips her waist tightly, grinding his hips against hers, letting her feel his erection, and she wraps her arms around him, draws them impossibly nearer.   


He slips his hands between them, undoes every button on her shirt at record speed, pushing it off her shoulders and sliding his hands around her back to unclasp her bra, the offending garments fluttering to the floor as he steps back against her, her breasts hot against his chest as he drags his hands down her back. She moans into his kiss, bucks forward against his aching cock, and Sam growls, trailing his fingers along the waistband of her jeans til he finds the button.   


Becky steps out of her pants quickly, then pushes her panties down her legs and kicks them away, and Sam hurriedly drops his jeans and boxers around his ankles. He swoops an arm under her ass and lifts her up, pushing her into wall while her legs lock around him. Sam’s cock slips between her folds, hot and slick with her arousal, and he raises her up higher, takes himself into his free hand and lines their two bodies up, slowly letting her sink onto his full length.   


They moan deeply at the same time, and Sam leans his head back so he can see her face, those light green eyes locking onto his brown ones. She cups the back of his neck, squeezes his arm as he braces them against the wall.   


“Take me, Sam. Want you to fuck me.”   


“Oh, Becks. Fuck.”   


He pumps in and out of her, rocking her into the plaster with each thrust, lifting up on the balls of his feet to get more leverage. She feels so good, and he is so fucking lucky to call her his own, to get to touch her like this, to hold her in his arms and love her with everything he can. Becky is so hot, tightening up on his cock with each move he makes, holding onto him as he pushes inside her again and again, and this is everything he never knew he needed.   


Her head drops back, hair spilling across her shoulders, and Sam closes the little distance between them to kiss her neck, her chin and her jaw, the right to touch her face his and his alone, and he doesn’t take this for granted, trailing his lips across her cheeks, then pressing his mouth to hers.   


“Sam- I’m gonna- Fuck, you feel so good. I’m gonna-”   


“Me too, Becky. Shit, me too. Want you to-”   


“Oh, ohgod,  _ Sam! _ ”   


Becky calls out his name as she comes, spasming around his cock, grinding against his pelvis to extend her orgasm, and he follows her a split second later, groaning loudly as he empties inside her, his entire frame shaking with the intensity. She clings to him, small tremors coursing throughout her, her forehead damp with sweat when it touches his own. They’re breathing hard from the exertion, arms wrapped around each other tight, and Sam tilts his head to kiss her one last time before he separates them, her feet dropping to floor.   


She leans back against the wall, fingers making tiny circles on his shoulders. He smiles down at her, her cheeks flushed and hair a mess.   


_ She is so beautiful, and she’s mine. _ _   
_

Becky glances down at the floor, laughs a little, then drops down to grab the clothes within her reach. Sam shakes his head, gathers her up in his arms; their bedroom suddenly doesn’t seem so far away.   


“Let Dean find the rest,” he says.   


Without protest, she simply lays her head on his shoulder and pecks a kiss to his cheek.   


“Mine,” says Becky.   


“Yours,” Sam agrees.


	39. Home for Christmas

**Under the Hood: Home for Christmas** **   
** ** _In which, Pala decorates, and Dean is grateful._**

* * *

_ I’ll be home for Christmas _ _   
_ _ You can count on me. _

Dean doesn’t always get a chance to celebrate, but he loves Christmas, always has. He has a lot of good memories of a much younger Sam trying to stay up late enough to catch Santa Claus, watching Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and opening up gifts on Christmas morning. Sure, he’s spent a few Christmases by himself, and yeah, there’s been plenty that could have been better. But on the whole- He’s not against the “peace on earth, goodwill toward men” thing, which is why he let Pala hang a wreath shaped air freshener off the rearview mirror of the Chevelle.    


Okay, he let her do that because “peace on earth” and because if it makes her happy, Pala can do anything she wants, as far as he’s concerned.   


Three weeks ago, Becky finally found the right mix of spellwork, and once again, there was an empty spot in the garage and Pala was human. A year and a half of searching, and now, she’s in his bed every morning when he wakes up, in his arms every night when he goes to bed, the brand on his arm the last thing on his mind for the first time since it was burned into him. Dean has enough Christmas cheer for the entire continental U.S. this year, even though it’s only the first week of December. A wreath hanging from the rearview is appropriate.   


The Chevelle is a recent purchase, and it still needs a little work done. Rigging a trunk isn’t easy, and the paint job leaves a lot to be desired, but it runs well, and it got them to and from the last job with no problems. Dean grabs the couple bags from his Walmart run and closes the door, smiling at the crappy scratched baby blue paint. With everything this car represents, it’s the best looking thing on four wheels.   


He drops the bags on the kitchen table, wonders where Becky and Sam have gotten off to- Her car wasn’t in the garage, but he’s not worried about it. Probably, Becky needed to blow off some steam, given that she spends most of her time here. Pala isn’t in the library, so he walks down the hall to his room,  _ their  _ room, finding the door already open.   


He stops for a second in the doorway, takes in the sight of Baby in his shirt and a pair of jeans, her hair falling down over her shoulders, a smile on her face. She is so beautiful, and he has a hard time not staring at her, not after so long with only memories that never did her justice. Pala is home again. Dean’s not the type to believe in Christmas miracles, but he’s willing to concede the point, if only because there is no gift that could ever compare to the sight of her, putting a star on top of a small Christmas tree on the desk.   


“Hey,” he says, and she looks over at him, her eyes lighting up.   


“Hey. What do you think?”   


“I think there’s a Christmas tree on my desk,” Dean teases, reaching out a hand to take hers and pull Pala to his chest, kissing the top of her head.   


It’s maybe two feet tall, with bright lights, red and green garland, and the tiniest ornaments Dean’s ever seen. Pala giggles, and he pulls her closer. He’s missed that sound.   


“I don’t think you’re getting the full effect,” she tells him and reaches behind them to flip off the lights, twisting to shut the door, bathing the room in darkness.   


He has to admit, she might have been right. With the tree the only light in the room, it looks perfect.   


“You win,” says Dean. “The tree looks great.”   


She lays her head against his chest, wraps her arms around his middle, and sighs contentedly. Dean palms the back of her head, her hair soft under his calluses, then lays his hand against the small of her back, thumb tracing the tattoo he can’t see but knows is there. They stand like this for a few minutes, admiring Pala’s handiwork, and Dean almost can’t believe this is real, except how warm she is, how perfectly she fills up his arms.   


“It needs some presents under it,” Pala comments after a bit. “There anything you want for Christmas?”   


Dean smiles, loosens his hold on her so he can look at her face, hand drifting to her cheek. She kisses his palm, smiling back at him, expectant.   


“I already have the only thing I want,” he says. “Baby, I- Last Christmas…”   


“I know,” she says softly. “I remember.”   


She had been there, he knows, unable to speak, while he worked his way through a bottle of Jack in the front seat. Sam joined him halfway through, an extra bottle in his hands, and that is how the Winchesters spent their Christmas, silently drunk in the bunker’s garage, exchanging hastily wrapped gifts without a word.   


“I didn’t know if you were even… If those two stall-outs were you, or if I was just losing my mind, seeing things where they didn’t exist. Pala…” He sighs, shakes his head to shake away the memory. “Baby, there is nothing I want more than what I already have right here.”   


“Dean…”   


Pala shakes her head as well, then reaches up to thread her fingers through his hair and pull him in for a kiss.   


Her mouth is soft and full beneath his, sugar sweet and rich, and Dean draws her bottom lip between his teeth, suckles gently as he turns them, guiding her carefully backwards to their bed, falling over her, cradling her in his arms. She arches into his touch, foot sliding over his calf, lips pressing against his neck, her hands sliding over his ribs to his chest to unbutton his shirt. He finds her mouth with his own again, shrugging out of his sleeves, then leaning up on his knees to bring his t-shirt over his head. He moves to sit, yanking off his boots and socks, then unbuckling his belt, Pala’s hands on his a moment later unzipping his fly.   


“Dean.”   


He kisses her, hands on her face as he pushes her back onto the mattress, slipping between her legs, his jeans sliding down his hips when they shift, and she grabs for the waistband of his boxers. Dean fumbles with the button on her pants, slipping his fingers under the lace of her panties, her hips raising, shimmying out of them, her bare legs brushing against his knuckles. Her shirt falls to the floor, adding to the growing pile, then her bra, and Pala shoves at his boxers, pushing them down his thighs until he can kick them off.   


Skin on skin again, the rush is gone, and Dean presses their bodies together, her skin like silk against his scars. Her fingers run over each line of broken skin, tracing the Mark of Cain, her other hand curved around the nape of his neck.   


“You’re mine,” she says possessively, covering the Mark with her palm and squeezing his arm. “Only mine.”   


Dean nods, because since she turned human, the Mark barely has any influence on him. He slides a hand under her back, hips shifting forward, his arousal brushing against the apex of her thighs.   


“You’re my Baby,” he replies.   


She kisses him, his hand sliding from her cheek to her neck, and he groans deeply, trails his lips down her throat, across her collarbone to her breasts, the lights of the tree casting gentle patterns of color across her skin, and he drops open-mouth kisses across her chest. Pala cups his chin and draws him back to her lips, reaching between their bodies to wrap her fingers around his manhood, stroking a few times as she angles her hips up. Dean moans, takes himself in hand and lines them up, pushing inside her, resting his elbows on either side of her ribs, sliding his hands under her shoulder blades.   


“Baby.” He sighs, touching their foreheads together, fully sheathing himself in her wet heat. “You feel so good.”   


“So do you, Dean,” she says, tangling their legs together, sliding her hands across his shoulders. “I want you.”   


“Want you.”   


It doesn’t matter how many times they’ve made love since he got her back, it’s not enough to make up for lost time. He moves slow, thrusting shallowly, wanting this to last as long as possible. He can’t get enough of her hands on his back, his shoulders, his hips, the way she breathes his name into his kiss, brushes her lips across his cheek. He’s missed and needed her every second of the last eighteen months, and a few short weeks can’t change that.   


She feels so good, every warm inch of her pressed against him, her tight walls clenching around him as her pleasure builds. His pace is starting to increase, his need driving him on, Pala’s spread about beneath him like every dream that never came true.   


“Baby,” he groans. “Pala, I’m about to- You feel- Fuck, Baby.”   


“Dean. Oh, Dean, I-  _ Dean!  _ Dean, don’t stop- I’m-”   


Pala’s scream is soundless, cutting off her breath, her head topped back in pleasure as she tightens up on him, entire body shaking with orgasm. Dean follows her a minute later, spilling himself inside her heat, face buried in the tight line of her neck. He’s shaking just as much as she is, held tight in the circle of her arms, breathing hard in the aftermath.   


“I love you,” he says.   


“I love you, Dean.

*

_ Dean… _ _   
_

Dean opens his eyes, finds himself in the front seat of the Impala, temple against the cold window. Her voice is soft in his mind, regretful and sad, and he sighs.   


“I fell asleep, huh?”   


Not like it needs to be said, though he really needs to be more careful. While the candles will likely just burn out, he tries to be more conscientious. There’s a bottle of whiskey in his lap, the neck still held in a loose grip, and he rubs his face with his free hand.   


“How long have I been out?”   


_ Around an hour _ , Pala says.  _ You were having a good dream. _ _   
_

“Yeah, I was.”   


He unscrews the cap and takes a long drink from the bottle, barely feeling the burn. He shifts uncomfortably in the seat.   


_ I’ve never had a Christmas tree, even a small one _ .   


“One day,” he promises her thickly.   


_One day, _she agrees, then, _Promise me you’ll spend Christmas with Becky and Sam and not out here in the garage again_.  
  
“Baby…”  
  
_Promise me, Dean.__  
_   
Dean sighs heavily and nods. “Okay, Pala. Okay.” Then, even though it’s weeks away, he says, “Merry Christmas, Baby.”  
  
_Merry Christmas, Dean.__  
_   
He downs another shot, then screws the cap back on the bottle, readjusts to a more comfortable position and lets his eyes close, candles be damned. The Mark burns beneath his shirt, but he swears he can still feel her palm pressed against it, warm and settling, reminding him of who he really belongs to.

_ I’ll be home for Christmas  
_ _ If only in my dreams. _


	40. The New Old Fashioned Way

**The Hunters’ Rose: The New Old-Fashioned Way** **   
** _ **This will be Becky’s first Christmas at the bunker, and she needs tinsel.** _

* * *

“Hey Sam?”   


Sam looks up from his computer screen to see his girlfriend in the doorway of the library. He smiles at her, scoots back from the table, and extends an arm.   


“Hey. Come here.”   


Becky crosses the room and sinks onto his lap, giving him a fast kiss, then pulling away to brush his hair back behind his ear.   


“What’s up?” he asks.   


“I’m going to run into town. I’m out of soymilk, Dean’s out of beer, and I wanted to pick up some Christmas decorations.”   


“Decorations?”   


“I’ve got my own, in storage, but I need tinsel.”   


Sam smiles, squeezes her thigh gently. It’s their first Christmas together, and he should have expected that she would want a real tree, not just the beer can wreath that Dean favors. He likes the idea, and honestly, it’s the most enthusiastic Becky’s looked in a long time. Her green eyes are bright with excitement, the corners of her lips tipped upward, and there’s not a lot Sam wouldn’t do to keep this expression on her beautiful face.   


“Sounds good to me. Did you need me to get the boxes out of the storage room?”   


“I figured I could ask Dean to do that while I was out. I’m pretty sure he’s in the garage with Pala. I wanted to see if you would go with me, but if you’re busy…”   


Sam shakes his head. “I’m not that busy. Nothing that can’t wait.”   


She squeals a little with excitement, then blushes, and he laughs, wraps his arms around her and pulls her close, kissing her cheek. What did he ever do to deserve this woman?   


“I love you, Becks,” he says, still chuckling as he logs off his laptop, then eases them both to a standing position.   


“I love you too.”   


Sam doesn’t think there’s a smile quite as bright or beautiful as hers.   


Like she predicted, they pass Dean on their way to Becky’s car, and he easily agrees to unearth the decorations. Sam slides into the passenger seat, which is set all the way back and has barely enough room for his legs, but that’s alright. He can’t resist teasing her as she pulls out of the garage onto the road.   


“You know, one day, you’re gonna wake up and Dean will have sold this thing.”   


“Pala would never let him.”   


“She might. She doesn’t like Toyotas.”   


“This is a Honda, Sam. You know that,” she says, glancing over with an amused, if long suffering, look. “And her name is Darlin. Show some respect.”   


“You and Dean, I swear.”   


“As far as I know, my car is just a car, but just in case, be polite.”   


Sam rolls his eyes, reaching across the center console to grab her hand, leaning towards her in the seat. Her hand is so small between both of his, and he draws circles on the back of it with his fingers.   


“In all seriousness, this thing has almost a hundred and fifty thousand miles on it. We could get you a new one.”   


“Not a chance. I finally got all the mirrors positioned perfectly.” Sam can’t help but laugh, and she continues, “Besides, I live with a great mechanic. Your brother keeps this thing in perfect condition. He even fixed the dent I put in it when I was sixteen and backed into Mr. Mason’s Buick.”   


Sam laughs. “When I was fourteen, I begged Dean to teach me to drive. For weeks. He finally gave in, and I hit a pole. I freaked out. I just knew Dean was gonna kill me, and if he didn’t, Dad was gonna finish the job.”   


Becky looks over at him and smiles, squeezes his hand. “What did Dean do?”   


“He sighed, shook his head and said, ‘It’s okay, Sammy. Dad’ll never know.’ And he let me drive some more once I calmed down. He got Dad good and drunk that night, then fixed the headlight and the fender in the parking lot.” He pauses, thinking back to how bad he’d felt, how Dean had let him help, patient as he showed Sam what to do, talking to “Baby” off and on. “I wonder if Pala remembers that.”   


“Probably. She has a good memory.” Becky asks, “Do you think it’ll bother Dean? Decorating for Christmas?”   


“Dean likes Christmas. Last year was rough, but, I don’t think he’ll mind.”   


She nods, then pulls her hand out from between his and turns on the radio, scanning the stations, then stops on  _ Mistletoe hung where you can see every couple tries to stop _ , prompting Sam to raise his eyebrows.   


“Really?”   


“What is it your brother always says? Driver picks the music-”   


“Shotgun shuts his cakehole. Yeah, I know the rule. Didn’t realize my girlfriend was going to pull rank on me.”   


She laughs, turns up the volume and then takes his hand again.   


“Suck it up, and sing along. Come on, it’ll be fun.”   


“Becky.”   


“Please?”   


She comes to a stop at a red light red light, turns her head to look at him, and she is absolutely breathtaking, the light green sparkling with mirth, a grin across her face, and Sam never had a prayer of winning this one, not that he really minds. He sighs dramatically, then lifts her hand to his lips to press a kiss to her knuckles.   


“ _ Rockin around the Christmas tree _ ,” he sings, and she laughs victoriously as the light turns green.   


“ _ Let the Christmas spirit reign,”  _ she joins in.   


And together, “ _ Everyone’s dancing merrily in the new old fashioned way _ .”   


He watches her dance to the saxophone in her seat, smile never leaving his face, and he thinks to himself that “the boy who hates Christmas” is long gone, never to be seen again   


It’s time for some new traditions, and singing with Becky is a good place to start.


	41. Beyond the Steel

**Beyond the Steel** **   
** ** _a love story of innocence and desire_ ** ** _   
_ **

_ Dean is losing himself to the Mark, and he needs Pala more than ever. A run-in with a genie and an unspoken wish leads to the unexpected. _

* * *

**Prologue**

Dean doesn’t like what he’s turning into.

When Cain first passed the Mark to him, he was relieved, even felt stronger than he had since his twenties. Then, he wrapped his fingers around the First Blade and a change coursed through him, a power and darkness pushing against his insides, humming beneath his skin. Still, he wasn’t worried. Pala’s voice in his mind chased away everything else. He’d only had her back for a short time. With Becky settling into the bunker and pouring over every scrap of information she could get her hands on, the hope of having Pala back in his arms kept the Mark’s influence at bay.   


Now, it has been almost a year since he was first able to talk to Pala, two full ones since the first morning she appeared in his room, nine months since the brand on his arm burned itself into him, and Dean knows too late that he is losing himself.   


He has stopped sleeping in the garage to spare Pala from his night terrors, stopped sleeping for the most part period. Daily conversations have become weekly ones. He frightens her. She doesn’t say it, but he hears it in her voice, in her questions, and he hates himself, because he doesn’t feel sorry for it. He’s angry.   


He doesn’t want to keep going like this. He doesn’t know if he can without her.   


But, there aren’t a lot of choices, and this is what finds Dean in another abandoned warehouse, her legos against his chest beneath his shirt. He and Sam are hunting an honest-to-Whatever genie using people’s innermost desires against them. It feeds on the chaos it creates, and against Sam’s wishes, Dean has the First Blade in his hand, because there’s not a lot of information on genies, except for a copper allergy. Why buy a copper blade when this one can kill anything?   


“Hey, Sam,” asks Dean. “What’s your deepest wish?”   


“Why?”   


His little brother is giving him that look, the  _ this seriously can’t wait ten minutes  _ one that makes Dean more determined every time.   


“Just wondering if we’re gonna be caught in the middle of a pony stampede.”   


Sam rolls his eyes. “I don’t want a pony, Dean.”   


“Not anymore. But, when you were, like, six that was all I heard-”   


“Shut up, Dean.”   


He grins, but does just that, moving silently through the halls, Sam by his side, until they stop short at the same time, peering around an unfinished doorway.   


It looks nothing like Disney prepared him for, not that he’d really been expecting a floating blue guy with a goatee. The genie is dark skinned, with glowing red eyes and sharp claws, leading Dean to wonder how it gets close enough to anyone to grant wishes in the first place. Doesn’t matter- it stops here.   


The Blade feels almost alive in his hand, and the urge to destroy pulses through him. Sam looks concerned, the way he always does on hunts now, but Dean ignores this. There is a need raging inside him, making his skin crawl as he stands still, assessing the best way to attack.   


“I know you’re there,” it hisses, smooth and slippery, with a salesman’s false promise. “You don’t have to hide, I mean you no harm.”   


Dean steps out first, his brother a beat behind.   


“I doubt that.”   


The genie smiles wide, revealing two rows of sharp teeth. It barely spares Sam a second’s glance before focusing on Dean.   


“You’re a fool,” it says.   


_ Kill, kill, kill. Killkillkillkill. _ _   
_

Dean rushes forward; this thing doesn’t look like much of a fighter, even with its claws and mouthful of fangs. He hears Sam’s shout, the panicked syllable, but Dean is confident in himself and what he can do, and he can’t hold back any longer.   


_ Killkillkillkillkill. _ _   
_

The genie laughs, and Dean hasn’t closed even half the distance before his knees hit the concrete. Dizziness replaces sure footing, a sharp tug in his abdomen, nausea making him drop his head. He smells smoke, looks up to see the genie gone, and then the First Blade falls to the ground.   


Agony. Too much force, pressure coming down on his bones and muscles, skin pulling tight against his frame.   


_ Pala,  _ he thinks, gasps for air, lungs feeling too small in his chest.   


And then, Dean Winchester, five years old, blinks and looks around. He has not been here before.   


Daddy isn’t here. It scares him. ‘Specially 'cause he smells smoke, and smoke means fire, and a fire took his mommy away and made Daddy sad and mad all the time always.   


“Dean?”   


There is a man on his knees beside him. Dean looks and sees his baby brother’s eyes in a grown up face. He frowns.   


“Sammy? How did you get so big?”   


Sammy says a word Daddy says when he’s angry. Dean grabs his brother’s arm.   


“You’re not supposed to say that, Sammy.”   


He stops. Where is he? Where is Daddy? And,   


“Sammy, where is my lady?”   


“Who?”   


“Pala. Where is Pala?”


	42. One

It is so hard to be the one who waits.   


Pala is parked down from the warehouse, too far to hear anything, and she is anxious, worried about Dean’s mental state. She hasn’t had a conversation with him in days, and he keeps his thoughts narrow and focused in an attempt to hide the truth from her. It works, but not as well as he would like, she knows. Stray images leak from his consciousness to hers. He isn’t himself lately, and she is desperate to help, tries to bring him back from the dangerous edge he’s on, but he has pulled away from her, purposefully distancing himself, even though he doesn’t want to.   


She aches to hold him, to lay her hand over the Mark, show him it doesn’t matter to her. He thinks she’s afraid of him, when really, she is afraid for him.   


Boots on gravel alert her to the brothers’ return, but she only hears one set of footsteps, and she wants to scream. Who did she lose? What happened? Dean, oh god, Dean, no.   


Sam comes into view, and she would sob, but she can’t. Then, she notices the boots swinging from their laces on Sam’s fingers, the First Blade sticking out of one, and a small boy in Sam’s arms, clad only in a shirt far too large for his frame, with shaggy light brown hair. He’s staring at her, a concerned expression on his round face.   


Dean.   


She recognizes him in a second, his mind open to hers and filled with pictures of confusion. A baby brother that’s big, no Daddy in sight, and a thought that breaks the heart she no longer has and bewilders her at the same time.   


_ Where is Pala? _ _   
_

Sam puts little Dean in the backseat and buckles him in. She guesses he’s about five, though he remembers who she is. Nothing in his mind would make her age him any older. She has no idea what’s happened, can’t even ask, has to wait for Sam to get behind the wheel. The engine doesn’t turn when he turns the key, and she switches her attention from Dean to his brother.   


“Pala…” Sam sighs. “Look, I need you to start. I’ll explain everything, but we’re four hours from home, and I need to get him somewhere safe.”   


She starts on the next try, not that she was deliberately trying to stall out. The sight of Dean shocked her to her very core.   


Pala expects Sam to start explaining immediately and is frustrated when he doesn’t. He pulls out his phone, and she sees Becky’s face light up the screen for a second before he brings it to his ear, easing the tires onto the road.   


“Becky. I need you to go to the store for me, grab some… shit-”   


“Sammy,” Dean says from the back seat, admonishment in his tone.   


“I mean. Shoot. Dean, just-” He sighs in aggravation, silent as Becky responds. “The genie turned Dean into a kid. I need you to grab some clothes for him… I don’t know what size, Becks, I was a baby when he was this age. Get some sweats and t-shirts, whatever has elastic in it….”   


Pala can’t make out Becky’s words, but she can hear her speaking.   


“Yeah. Heart’s desire, that’s what I thought, but I can’t believe Dean wanted to be a kid again.”   


She stops listening at that point, because little Dean’s mind starts racing. He is terrified, no idea what Sam’s words mean exactly, and Pala wishes she could comfort him, wrap him up in her arms and tell him he’s going to be okay. Dean wants to know where Daddy is, bravely reminds himself not to cry, he’s a big brother and can’t cry or Sammy will too.   


But, more than anything, he wants to know where she is. He has perfect memories of her, no context, just pictures of how she looks, sitting at a table or reading a book, though he doesn’t recognize the bunker. She doesn’t remember half the moments he does, and she thinks she has never realized until now how much Dean looked at her.   


Dean hasn’t said a word, and Sam glances in the rearview as they pass under a streetlight.   


“Hey man, you doing okay back there?”   


Dean just nods.   


Sam addresses Pala directly for the first time. “He charged at that thing. Barely made it three steps before he hit the ground and that thing disappeared in a puff of smoke. I don’t know what’s going on, Pala. I really don’t. When we get back-”   


“Pala?” Dean interrupts. “Where’s Pala?”   


“She… Dean, this is Pala. The car.”   


The little boy frowns. “No. Pala is a lady.  _ My _ lady. This is Daddy’s car.”   


He sounds so matter of fact, his thoughts of Pala’s face and then shining black paint, comparing the two, and he nods as if to confirm his statement. She wants to laugh.   


Sam looks frustrated, like he doesn’t know what to make of Dean’s response.   


“Dean, Pala is… she’s the car, but she can… she can hear you. In fact, she can hear your thoughts.”   


“But, I can’t hear her.”   


“Yeah, but… well. Dean, how old are you?”   


“I’m five, Sammy. You’re one, only now you’re big.”   


Pala watches Dean’s thoughts change to a just toddling Sam, and she realizes that, for him, it hasn’t been a full year since Mary’s death. He is trying to reconcile the two images of his baby brother and the man driving his father’s car, and he sighs when he can’t make sense of it.   


_ Pala, can you hear me? _ _   
_

She’s surprised to have him try speaking to her like this, wishes she could answer him.   


_ Pala, I’m scared. I want Dad. Where are you really? _ _   
_

It makes her hurt, the tiny, young voice asking for her. The communication spell has to be spoken by the person, and she knows a five year old Dean won’t be able to navigate the French language. Maybe if Sam and Becky help, he can manage it, but that doesn’t help her now.   


He keeps trying to get her to answer him, falls asleep thinking about her, and she catches glimpses of his dreams. It takes her a bit to process it, but then she realizes with startling clarity: dreams, not nightmares.   


He doesn’t have the Mark anymore. Was this his wish?   


She guesses she has another few hours before she can share this revelation with Sam, so she forces herself to stay calm and simply enjoy Dean dreaming of her laughter.

*

Dean wakes up ‘cause Sammy shakes his shoulder. The man is trying to carry him again. Dean pulls away.   


“I can walk.”   


He follows Sammy. There are a lot of cars in here, and the floor is cold. He doesn’t know what this place is. They go through a door and walk down a hall. Dean hopes Dad is here. Daddy will know what’s going on.   


They end up in a kitchen. For a second, Dean thinks he sees Mom. Then, the blond lady turns. It’s not Mom, 'cause Mom is dead. Dean looks at the ground. Big brothers aren’t supposed to cry. He rubs at his eyes until the tears go away.   


Sammy and the blond lady are hugging now. She looks at Dean and smiles. She drops down so she is as tall as him.   


“Hi, sweetheart. I’m Becky.”   


The lady holds her hand out, and Dean knows what to do. Daddy taught him how to shake hands. He squeezes her hand with his and moves it up and down twice.   


“I’m Dean,” he says.   


“It’s nice to meet you, Dean.”   


“Nice to meet you.”   


He likes her smile.   


“I bought you some clothes. Do you need some help changing?”   


He shakes his head. “No, I can do it.”   


Becky nods. “Okay. But maybe Sam can come with you, in case you get stuck. That sound alright?”   


“That’s okay. I guess.”   


He looks up and up and up at Sammy. How did he get so big? “Where is our room?”   


“You have your own room, Dean. Come on, I’ll show you.”   


Dean frowns. How can he take care of Sammy if they don’t share? He has to watch out for his brother. That’s what Dad says. “ _ Watch out for Sammy, Dean. You’re his brother.” _ _   
_

Sammy opens a door and points inside. “This is your room,” he says.   


It has a big bed and a sink and a desk and records and pictures. Dean walks over to the desk to look at the pictures. There is one of him and Mommy, and he picks that one up first. He has a wallet that Dad gave him for Christmas. This picture is in it. It makes Daddy too sad to look at.   


He turns around and holds it up to Sammy.   


“Look. It’s Mom.”   


His brother looks sad and nods. Dean puts the picture back. He grabs the one right next to it and hands it over.   


“See? Pala isn’t a car. She’s my lady.”   


The picture is of her. She is smiling real big, and her eyes are pretty. Why does Sammy think Pala is the car? This is Pala. Pala has eyes and a smile and arms to hug him and legs to run on. She can’t be a car. The car has tires. The car doesn’t smile.   


“Yeah, Dean. She’s yours. Come on, let’s get you dressed.”   


There is a bag on the bed. Dean grabs a pair of pants and sits down on the floor so he can put both feet in before he pulls them on, but when he stands up the pants are too long and they almost fall down. Sammy smiles and ties the string tight beneath his belly button so the pants stay up, then he gets down on the floor and rolls the bottoms up so Dean’s feet touch the floor again. Dean takes off the big shirt and gets stuck in another one. Sammy tugs on the bottom, and Dean’s head pops through the hole.   


“Better?” his brother asks.   


Dean nods. “Sammy, where is Dad?”   


Sammy makes a face, and Dean thinks his tummy hurts. He takes a step closer, and his brother hugs him, almost too much, it kinda hurts, but Dean hugs back, 'cause Sammy may be big, but he’s still Dean’s little brother and if he needs a hug, Dean doesn’t mind.   


Sammy pulls away, and Dean wipes a tear off his cheek.   


“It’s okay to cry, brother.”   


His brother smiles. “Thanks, Dean. Dad, uh… Dad had to go away for a little while, but me and Becky are gonna take care of you, I promise.”   


“Who’s Becky? Is she one of Daddy’s friends?”   


“No, she’s my girlfriend.”   


Dean frowns. “You’re big enough to have a girlfriend?”   


Sammy laughs. “Yeah.”   


Dean sighs. Yesterday, Sammy can’t walk. Today, he is bigger than Dean and has a blond girlfriend.   


“Everything okay, Dean?”   


“Why are you big and I’m littler?”   


“I don’t know, Dean. I’m gonna figure that out.”   


He nods. That’s good. Becky walks in the room.   


“Pants are too big, huh? We can fix that.”   


“It’s okay,” says Dean. Mom always said to be nice to people and not make them feel bad about stuff. “Thank you.”   


“You’re welcome, sweetie. You ready for bed?”   


Dean isn’t tired. He slept in the backseat. He wants to talk to Pala, but his brother looks like he wants Dean to say yes, so Dean nods and crawls into the big bed and gets under the covers, 'cause he doesn’t have to bother Sammy to go see Pala. He waits 'til his brother and Becky close another door and climbs down. He’s used to being quiet. Dad and Sammy don’t like being woke up.   


He gets kinda lost. This place is a whole lot bigger than the rooms he and Daddy and Sammy share. He finally finds the right door and reaches up as high as he can so he can turn on the light and find the car Sammy says is Pala. Maybe she got stuck. Dean knows about those things. He knows things aren’t how everybody else thinks. He’s heard Dad talk to people about monsters and things that are supposed to be make believe but aren’t, 'cause make believe stuff doesn’t hurt and this stuff does. A monster took away his mommy and tried to kill Sammy. So, maybe a monster got Pala stuck in Daddy’s car, and that’s why Sammy thinks she’s the car now. Dean can tell it to him tomorrow.   


He opens the back door and gets inside.   


_ Pala, it’s gonna be okay. I know you’re not the car. I’ll fix you. Daddy teaches me about cars and stuff. I can help. But can you please talk to me? I’m really scared. _ _   
_

She doesn’t say nothing. Dean thinks she’s sleeping. None of his toys are in the backseat or the picture books he shows to Sammy or any of his colors or paper. He has nothing to do. He grabs the blanket and covers up with it and pretends Pala needs to be rescued from a tower like the princesses in the stories Mom used to tell him and Dad sometimes reads to him but not as much. If he was a fireman, he could save her from anything. He would too. He loves her.


	43. Two

Pala watches over Dean as he sleeps in the backseat, his dreams drifting carelessly from one to the next. The Winchester family, herself included, are seated around a kitchen table, Mary and John side by side, Sam in a high chair, Dean next to Pala. It’s the house in Lawrence, Pala realizes, one she’s never been inside, only parked outside in the driveway, but this is a dream and logic doesn’t have any jurisdiction here.   


Sam rushes into the garage, and Pala knows it must be morning, though she hasn’t really been paying attention to the time. His eyes have a wild, frantic look, and he jerks open the back door, which wakes Dean, who blinks sleepily and rubs at his eyes. Sam kneels next to the open backseat as Dean rights himself, looking at his little brother curiously. He’s an intuitive child, and his thoughts are full of questions, but he doesn’t voice any of them, just pats his brother’s arm, not quite awake yet. It’s a gesture of comfort, a silent  _ I’m here, Sammy, it’s okay _ , and Pala can’t decide if it’s funny or sweet or a little bit sad, a five year old boy trying to comfort a grown man.    


“Dean, you can’t come down here without telling me.”   


Dean frowns, but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know why Sam is so upset, why he’s not supposed to be in here, and Pala is amused by his indignation that Sammy is the little brother, he doesn’t get to make the rules. It doesn’t matter to Dean that he’s five and Sam is an adult- Dean is the big brother. That’s just the way this works.    


But, he isn’t the type of child to complain, so he crawls out of the car and follows Sam willingly out of the garage. Pala feels an ache at his absence, wants desperately to go with them. She should be with her family and is instead alone and surrounded by machines that are like her, but are not.

*

Dean likes Becky. She smiles a lot and calls him sweetie, kinda like Mom used to, and she cooks his favorite foods, and best of all, she is gonna make Sammy let him talk to Pala, even though his brother was upset that Dean slept in the car last night. Becky promised Dean that he could talk to Pala if he brushed his teeth and ate his breakfast and let them do some grown up work first. She made him pancakes and a glass of milk that tastes different than the kind Daddy gets.    


He kicks his feet back and forth. Becky and Sammy are talking on the phones about him. He doesn’t like it. He’s tired of waiting. He promised Becky he would, but he doesn’t have nothing to do.   


Dean walks to his brother and tugs on his shirt. He stands quiet like Dad teached him about. When his brother looks down, Dean doesn’t say nothing. Sammy sighs.   


“Cas, I’m gonna have to let you go. We promised Dean he could talk to Pala, and that was over an hour ago. But you’ll be here, right? …. Later today is fine. Thanks, man. Bye.”   


Sammy looks at Becky. She puts down her phone and shrugs.   


“Janine didn’t know anything about genies. I didn’t tell her about Dean, no reason for anyone to know that the Winchesters are down one.”   


What does Becky mean? Dean tugs on his brother’s shirt again. “Sammy, I’m standing up.”   


Sammy smiles. “Yeah, dude, I know. Come on, let’s go talk to Pala.”

*

Dean doesn’t like fire, but Sammy says it’s okay and helps him strike the match and light the candles. Dean doesn’t know why he needs candles to talk to Pala. Becky said it’s a spell. ‘Cause Pala is in the car, they have to use a special way to talk to her, and  that means candles and funny words that Dean can’t say very well. Becky says them slow, then Dean says 'em, and it takes a long time to say everything. He is sitting on the floor in front of the car. This is dumb. Why can’t Pala just talk to him?   


_ Because I’m not human, Dean. I can’t talk like you can. _ _   
_

Dean jumps. He heard her! That’s Pala!   


_ Yes, it’s me, Dean.  _ She sounds happy.  _ How are you? _ _   
_

Dean looks at Sammy and Becky. Pala’s voice is sweet.   


_ You don’t have to say anything, Dean. I can hear what you think, remember? I won’t tell them anything. They can’t hear what we’re saying, baby. _ _   
_

Dean nods.  _ Why can you hear my thoughts all the time, but I can just hear you when I light candles? _ _   
_

Pala sighs. She sounds sad now.  _ Because I’m a car, Dean, and cars can’t talk. _ _   
_

Why does she think that? Cars don’t think. Cars don’t have faces. And Dean has a picture of Pala’s face. So, Pala can’t be a car.   


_ Dean, baby. I am a car. I was never little like you or like Sam was. Do you remember when Sam was in your mom’s tummy? _ _   
_

Dean nods. Mom and Dad told him he was he gonna be a big brother. Mom’s tummy got big and then they brought Sammy home.   


_ I don’t have a mom, Dean. I was made out of steel. _ _   
_

Dean shakes his head.  _ Yeah, but, you’re my lady. You have black hair and…  _ He doesn’t know the color, so he just says,  _ pretty eyes. _ _   
_

Pala laughs.  _ Thank you, Dean. _ _   
_

He sighs. This is weird. And wrong, all wrong. Daddy is gone, and Pala thinks she’s the car, and Sammy is way too tall, he shouldn’t be taller than Dean, and Dean has nothing to do when he can’t talk to Pala.   


_ Baby, if you ask Sam or Becky, they’ll buy you toys. _ _   
_

Dean shakes his head back and forth.  _ Toys are money. It’s okay. I don’t need any. _ _   
_

Pala says,  _ Dean… _ _   
_

He touches the bumper.  _ Pala, did you get stuck in the car? _ _   
_

_ I… yes. _ _   
_

Dean knew that had to be it.  _ Why? _ _   
_

She sounds so sad. Kinda like she’s crying.  _ Because this is what I am, Dean. Someone… a bad person hurt me, and this was the only way to save my life. _ _   
_

Dean rubs his hand back and forth on the bumper.  _ It’s okay, Pala. I can help. _ _   
_

Pala says,  _ I’m sure you can. But, it’s okay if you can’t. _ _   
_

He wants to hug her, but his arms aren’t big enough because she’s in the car. It’s okay. Dean’s gonna fix that.

*

Pala hates this. Existing as a car, motionless and silent, is agony now that she has had her own voice, her own body.   


Her conversation with Dean was one she didn’t want to have with a five year old. He brushed off all her questions about him, except to make her promise she wouldn’t tell Sam or Becky about his lack of things to play with. Instead, he asked about her, adamant that she is merely trapped in the steel, not accepting of what she actually is, his questions growing more and more specific about why she’s 'stuck in the car’ as he puts it. She doesn’t fully understand the map he’s creating for himself in his head, just gets the sense from him that he’s connecting pieces to a puzzle no one else can see. He’d hung around when she talked to Sam, and though she wanted to break it, she kept her promise and didn’t mention that even a quiet and well-behaved child needs something to do. She’d told Sam her theory about the Mark, which puts the situation in perspective, but isn’t particularly helpful otherwise.   


Dean is unusually focused for a child. Sam was never like this, but she remembers this Dean, only speaking when he couldn’t get information for himself, keeping himself occupied, determined to be helpful to his father. Only now, he is determined to be helpful to  _ her _ , to  _ fix _ her, much like his older incarnation, only with a far more innocent and optimistic outlook. She can’t make him understand that what happened is permanent. He is so sure that he can change her back to human, and she is equally sure that he can’t. She’s a car, that’s how she started life, and her connection with Dean doesn’t change that fact.   


Two years, and no amount of research has turned up anything on how to change steel into flesh. Trisha’s cruel joke was just a fluke, and Pala may have a soul, but she was made on an assembly line.   


Dean ignored these details, dismissing all her protests, and before he said goodbye, he promised he would fix her, filling her with a deep sadness and an overwhelming rush of affection at the same time.

*

Castiel is an angel. That’s what Becky says when the man appears in the room with all the books. Dean is happy, because angels are good. He hops off his chair and walks over to the man who gets down on one knee.   


“Hello, Dean. I’m Castiel.”   


“You’re an angel?”   


“Yes, I’m an angel.”   


“My mom said that angels are watching over me. Is that true?” Dean wants to know.   


Castiel smiles. He has blue eyes with crinkles.   


“At least one angel is watching over you, Dean. I promise.”   


“Is it you?”   


Castiel nods. This is very, very good. An angel can help Dean.   


“Can I show you something?” asks Dean.   


“Of course, Dean.”   


He leads Castiel into the garage and points to the car everyone says is Pala.   


“That’s my daddy’s car. My lady is stuck in it. Can you get her out?”   


“I’m sorry, Dean. I cannot.”   


“But, you’re an angel,” says Dean and kicks at the ground.   


“I am, but I can’t turn cars into humans. I’m very sorry.”   


Dean sighs. “Okay.”   


Castiel gets down again like before. “Maybe I can help you with something else.”   


Dean thinks for a minute. Angels probably knows stuff, maybe even more than Daddy does. And if Dean’s gonna fix Pala, he needs to know stuff too.   


“How does it work?”   


“How does what work, Dean?”   


“The… the candles and the funny words. Is it only funny words that make things happen?”   


Castiel looks at him. He isn’t smiling. He looks a little like Dad does when he’s reading.   


“Candles are an important part of most spells. They represent fire, or they can be used to connect with a certain property depending on the color. White can be used for any reason.”   


“So, the candles are important? It won’t work without them?”   


“Think of them as a way to get attention from the universe. The words can be in English. It’s what they say that matters. Some cultures use pictures instead of words. The spell you’re using tells the universe that you want to talk to Pala, and then you do.”   


“But, if it’s that simple, why can’t we say we want Pala to be human?” asks Dean.   


“I don’t know, Dean. I wish I did. Some spells are harder than others. Talking to Pala doesn’t change anything. But to change a car into a human- that changes quite a bit.”   


Dean sighs. Grown ups don’t get stuff. He tells them and tells them, but they still think she’s a car.   


“Thank you,” says Dean, 'cause that’s the right thing to say.    


“You’re welcome, Dean.”   


He follows Castiel back to Sammy and Becky. He lets them talk and looks around. Dean gets it now and to fix Pala, he’s gonna need supplies.

*

It’s late when the garage door opens and Dean enters, tiny arms filled. Pala sees two candles, a piece of paper, and a box of matches. He sets up right in front of her, laying the paper down first, then places the candles on opposite corners, pulls her necklace over his head and lays it down on his makeshift altar.   


_ Don’t worry, Pala. I know what to do. _ _   
_

The rest of Dean’s thoughts are in song, he’s trying to remember something; the words change every time, but the message doesn’t. She’s not a car, she’s supposed to be with Dean, she’s his lady. Over and over, as he struggles with the matches, a serious expression on his little face.   


And then, he speaks out loud, the words coming out in sing-song style. Pala feels like crying. This isn’t going to work, and when it doesn’t, this little boy is going to be crushed. She’s irritated with Sam and Becky and Castiel. Admittedly, Sam would have no memory of Dean’s persistence at this age, but how did he not notice Dean getting matches? Why did Castiel have to tell Dean what he did?   


Dean waits patiently, watching the candles burn even though they make him uncomfortable. Eventually, he leans back against the wall in front of her, expectant. He is so sure of himself.   


As time passes, Dean’s eyes begin to droop, and though he fights it, he succumbs to sleep with the candles still lit. Hours go by and the candles burn lower and lower, until with a burst they grow high and extinguish.   


She feels a pull, not painful, a simple pressure that grows and grows, a tingle that sweeps over her, and then:   


Pala takes the first breath she’s taken in two years.    


She glances to her right and sees the Impala, then down at herself, startled. She’s human, looks almost exactly the same, but there’s her original self, black paint gleaming under the lights. Getting to her feet, she takes a quick look at Dean to confirm he’s still asleep before she leaves the garage, heading to her and Dean’s bedroom.   


Her clothes are in the same drawers as they were, she notes with both fondness and heartbreak. She pulls on the first pair of shorts she finds, then one of Dean’s long sleeved thermals. Headed back to the garage, she tries not to think too much. One step at a time.   


When she returns, she tries her best not to look at the Impala as she puts on her necklace, the slight weight familiar and comforting. She reaches down to grab the paper Dean carried into the garage with him. It’s a simple drawing. A little boy, a big car, and a tall woman.   


He separated her from the car. They’ve been trying to change a car into a human, while Dean just wanted to give a person a human body. She marvels at how astute a child’s observations can be, at how he took a complicated situation and made it so simplistic, he accomplished what no one else could.    


This was his heart’s desire, his deepest wish. Dean wished for her, for a way to bring her back, and her heart aches with the sudden knowledge of it.   


Dean is limp as she lifts him into her arms, one arm across the back of his thighs, the other cradling his head, his arms hanging by his side. With careful steps, she carries him back to their bedroom, lays him down and gets in next to him, pulls the blankets over them both.   


He stirs for the first time then, scoots next to her and grabs a fistful of her shirt. She wraps him up in her arms, kisses the mess of light brown hair. Their relationship and roles in each other’s lives have changed, but their devotion hasn’t, and it is natural to hold him, much like a mother holds a child, though not quite, and tell him to go back to sleep.   


Once, she was his Baby; now he is hers.   


“Night, Pala,” he mumbles sleepily.   


“Good night, baby,” she says, closing her eyes, willing to leave everything else for the morning in favor of this innocent soft warmth.   


Under the sleeve of her shirt, the Mark of Cain burns and does not let her rest.


	44. Three

It’s a long time before the burning subsides, at last becoming a dull ache, and Pala drifts into a dreamless sleep that lasts only an hour before Dean shifts, rolling over and elbowing her in the ribs. It doesn’t hurt, not really, but it’s enough to rouse her, and she slips out of bed, careful not to wake him. Pala keeps the door open a crack, enough to let in some of the hall light, in case she doesn’t make it back before Dean gets up. The bunker is quiet in the early morning, and Pala’s footsteps are the only sound.

She makes her way to the kitchen, glances at the clock. **6:47**, it reads, which means Sam will be back from his run before long, not used to needing to check in on his brother beforehand, which is the only reason her presence has gone unnoticed. It’s easy work to start coffee, almost everything still in the same place as before, and as Pala leans against the kitchen counter, stretching her arms above her head and inhaling the rich aroma, she simply revels in every sensation being human has to offer, including the easing pain in her right arm. To truly be able to feel, to be able to move on her own… even under her current circumstances, Pala can’t help but be happy.

It’s too hot to drink yet, but she pours a cup of coffee anyway and lets it cool on the counter, crosses her arms across her middle and thumbs the brand beneath her shirt. She doesn’t feel all that different, but she knows from Dean’s experience that this will change. What she doesn’t know is why she has the Mark in the first place or why Dean is still a child now that she’s human again. She thinks back to Dean’s simple spell, and it doesn’t give her any hints as to what’s going on. Truthfully, she doesn’t want to dwell on it right now. She just wants to enjoy her morning for a little longer, before Sam gets back and Becky wakes up and the three of them begin trying to make sense of the mess they all find themselves in.

A door opens and shuts from down the hall, and the clock reads out **7:03** . Pala sighs, knows her time alone has come to a close for now, but when her best friend comes around the corner, she smiles. 

“Good morning, Becky.”

The blonde stares, a hand raising to cover her open mouth, and her light green eyes go wide with shock. Pala pushes off the counter and takes a step closer.

“It’s really me,” says Pala. “I’ll find the holy water and silver knife if you really need me to.”

“How did- how did you- how are you- oh my God.” Becky stumbles over her questions, and she moves forward, shaking her head in confusion. “Pala, you’re _ human. _ ” 

Pala nods. “This was Dean’s wish,” she tells Becky.

There’s a beat, and she waits patiently for her friend to process this, expecting more questions, but Becky rushes forward and pulls Pala into a hug, arms wrapped tightly across her shoulders. Pala hugs back just as tightly, relieved by the instant and obvious acceptance, if a little annoyed by Becky’s too easily gained trust. She pulls back, squeezes Becky’s elbows, and smiles again.

Becky says, “I’ve wanted to do that for so long. Sam is gonna flip, oh my God.”

Pala chuckles. “Probably. But the last time this happened, he was pretty quick to believe me.”

She shrugs out of Becky’s hold, once more leaning back, propping a foot against the cabinet. The blonde looks like she’s about to pull Pala in for another hug, so Pala quickly crosses her arms again, but doesn’t lose her smile. It’s just a bit much for her right now, to actually be able to touch. Becky looks a little crestfallen, but she recovers quickly, her face brightening.

“We’ll have to have a girls’ night,” she says excitedly. “It’s pretty much all boys all the time around here.”

“That’ll be fun,” Pala agrees. “After we find a way to turn Dean back. We’ll send them off to play pool.”

Becky frowns. “Dean’s still a kid?”

As though to answer her question, the sound of tiny footfalls follow immediately, a soft _ where did Pala go _ sliding into Pala’s mind. 

“I’m in the kitchen, Dean,” she calls out, and then her heart begins to race in her chest at what has just happened.

Dean walks in a second later, hair messy and eyes still heavy with sleep, and he comes straight to Pala and raises his arms. She lifts him up, settles him onto her hip on instinct, runs her fingers through his soft hair.

“Dean,” she says. “Will you say something to me? The way you did when I was a- when I was stuck in the car?”

He nods. _ I’m hungry. Can Becky make pancakes again? _ _   
_

“Pala? Is everything okay?”

She looks over at the blonde, trying to mask her reaction from both her friend and the child in her arms.

“Everything’s fine. Dean wants to know if you’ll make pancakes for breakfast.”

He lays his head on her shoulder, still sleepy, young enough for affection to be second nature. Pala kisses his temple, rubs his back, and hitches him up higher on her hip.

“I… sure, Dean.” Becky turns her gaze to Pala. “I thought you couldn’t hear him when you were…”

“I couldn’t. I guess- last night, I was…”

Last night, she was thinking about the Mark, about the way it was searing itself into her skin, into every tiny piece of her being.

"I was distracted,” Pala says. “But, I guess when he changed me, he changed a few other things as well.”

And that is when Sam appears, shirt soaked through with sweat, and he takes a step back, as though pushed by some unseen force.

“But, I just saw you in the garage,” he says. “I saw the car, I was looking for Dean, and…” He trails off, unsure of himself, and Becky moves next to him, lays a hand on his arm in comfort.

Dean lifts his head and looks directly at Sam. “I told you she wasn’t the car,” he says calmly, as though his brother is the child and himself the adult. “The car is the car. _ This _ is Pala.” 

His voice is triumphant, and Pala grins and then tilts her head to kiss his cheek.

*

Dean’s thoughts are unobtrusive background noise in Pala’s mind. It’s familiar, comforting even, to still have this kind of connection with him, and she has no trouble separating their streams of consciousness or focusing on the conversation she’s having.

He sits quietly and contentedly next to her, waiting for Becky to finish making breakfast while Pala relays last night’s events to his brother. For his part, Sam looks slightly bewildered, shaking his head at her explanation.

“We’ve been searching for two years,” he says. “He’s five years old. How did he-”

“You’re the one who said he was a genius, Sam,” interrupts Pala. “He’s a kid, he doesn’t get caught up in details like we do. He said it over and over, he tried to tell us. We wouldn’t listen. The car is just a car.”

Dean pipes up then, “You’re my lady, Pala.”

“Yes, Dean,” she replies fondly, wrapping an arm around him to pull him into a hug and he sinks into her side.

Sam frowns at her easy dismissal. “What if you’re wrong? What if you were right before, that what he wanted was to get rid of the Mark?”

Pala forces herself not to look down where her sleeve covers Cain’s brand.

“Then why am I here?” she counters. “I think the Mark being gone is just a side effect of him becoming a kid. Can a child even bear the Mark?”

He’s silent as he considers this, then asks, “If we find a way to change him back, are you going to…”

“The genie changed Dean, but Dean was the one who changed me. And it feels… it feels permanent, Sam. Different than when Trisha did it. More natural.”

“What’s different?”

“I can hear his thoughts, for one. And…” She takes a breath, glances down at Dean who smiles up at her, innocent and trusting, so happy that she’s here, so proud that he was able to fix things, and she makes her decision then. “I can’t describe it, Sam. What it’s like to go from being a car to being a human. All I know is that it’s different. He didn’t use the car as a blueprint, he used me. He used our connection, gave a soul a body- he didn’t change steel into bone.”

She sees the moment when Sam relaxes. The smile starts in his eyes, then lifts the corners of his mouth, and she smiles back. She’s home. She’s breathing and warm and human; she has her family back, her brother back, and she gets to her feet when he does, lets him wrap his long arms around her, hugs him back just as tightly.

“It’s good to see you, Pala,” he says finally, stepping away and sitting back across from Dean. “I’m glad to have you back.”

She lays a hand on Dean’s small shoulder, smiles down at him, then smiles at Sam. “Me too.”

*

Becky and Sam disappear after breakfast, and Pala seats Dean on the countertop while she does the dishes. He likes being up high, feet swinging freely in the air, heels hitting the cabinets, and she pecks a kiss to his forehead.

“Be careful, baby,” she says. “Don’t fall.”

He nods, doesn’t say anything aloud, but he scoots back a little on the counter. Now that he knows she can hear him, he’s gotten even quieter, preferring to let her listen in to whatever he’s thinking.

“Dean, after I finish these, why don’t we go to Walmart and buy you some toys? That way you have something to do while me and Sammy work.”

He wants to help, doesn’t need toys, and she sighs, puts a plate in the dish rack.

“Maybe we could play together.”

That idea he likes, and Pala flicks a few bubbles onto him, making him giggle. Once he’s back in his thirties, she worries he won’t like that his mind is so open to her, but for now, he enjoys the closeness that comes with it. She tickles him, her wet hands soaking his shirt, and his giggles turn into shrieks of laughter. As much as Pala misses the man she fell in love with, this boy is just as dear to her.

She returns her immediate attention to the sink, rinsing the batter bowl, then the frying pan. She isn’t sure where her wallet is, but Dean’s is in the front seat of the car where Sam dropped it by accident. It’ll have a few credit cards, maybe some cash, and that’ll be enough for her shopping trip. Dean needs some clothes that actually fit and something to do while she, Becky, and Sam try to figure out how to reverse what the genie did.

She’s been careful not to push her sleeves up too far and expose the Mark, and as a result, the cuffs are wet. The priority here is Dean. Once he’s grown again, she’ll tell her family the truth, but for now, this is her cross to bear.

Pala pulls the drain in the sink, uses a rag to wipe the syrup from Dean’s hands and face, then pulls him into her arms, intending to set him on the floor, but he wraps his legs around her waist and fits his head into the curve of her neck. He’s thinking how much he loves her, how much he’s missed her. She holds him tight, not willing to let him go, because somehow, he knows what it’s like to be without her, even if he doesn’t remember being an adult, and she remembers all too well how much she missed him having him close.

“Baby, I’m not going anywhere,” she tells him, palming the back of his head.

He nods against her collarbone, and she carries him out of the kitchen and down the hall, pausing outside the bathroom when she hears a loud sob, then Sam’s low tones, the shower cutting off abruptly. Becky’s voice is sharp and strained, hard to make out, but Pala catches a few words -_ can’t breathe- _ and she’s instantly concerned. 

“Sam?” she calls out. “Everything okay in there?”

“We’re fine, Pala.” He’s tense, every word thick with a plea for her to move on, and there’s a soft sob that follows. “Thanks, though.”

“Alright.”

She trusts in Sam’s ability, even if she wants to help, and continues down the hall. Pala knows Becky is still struggling, but recently, things had seemed to be improving. How much day to day stuff has she missed, sitting in the garage?

Heading to their bedroom, Dean is worried about Becky, wants to know why she’s crying, if she’s okay and why Sam is in the bathroom with her. Pala sighs. That’s a lot of unasked questions to answer.

“Becky’s fine, Dean. Sam is just… helping her. Because he loves her.”

“Like I helped you?”

Pala drops him onto the bed and smiles before she starts rummaging through the few bags of kid clothes.

“Kind of. When you love someone, you do stuff to help them.”

Dean nods. He knows all about that. He’s already adopted Becky in his mind, because she’s important to Sam, and it amazes Pala how easy it is for Dean to love, at any age really, but especially as a child. He’s frustrated though, because he doesn’t know her very well, and he doesn’t know how to make her feel better.

Not that he says anything.

“Dean,” prompts Pala, “do you want to look for something for Becky while we’re at the store?”

“I used to draw pictures for Mom when she was sad.”

“I bet Becky would like that. We’ll buy some crayons and paper, okay? But we have to get dressed first.”

He’s quick to obey, and he pulls on clean underpants, sweats and a dry shirt she’s handed to him, going outside to the hall and closing the door so Pala can get dressed in private. She looks at the Mark, the sickly red against her tan skin, swallows hard at the sight. It will be okay, she reminds herself. Dean managed for a long time, so can she.

This family is under enough stress. Dean is five, Becky has PTSD, and Sam needs someone he can lean on.

She pulls a flannel shirt over her tank top and buttons the cuffs instead of rolling up the sleeves.


	45. Four

Pala likes the same music as Daddy, and Dean sings along. He doesn’t really knows all the words, but he can pretend pretty good.   


She looks back at him. She hasn’t stopped smiling since he got up. ‘Cept when they heard Becky crying. But she’s smiling again now, so he sings as loud as he can, 'cause she likes it.   


“I’m on the highway to Hell!”   


Pala laughs. Then she turns the music up loud and sings with him.   


Dean knew he could do it, that he could fix her, and now Pala is driving Daddy’s car. He thinks that’s okay, his dad probably wouldn’t mind. He looks around the backseat, and there is a pair of boots, something is sticking out of one, but he can’t reach it, and he wonders what it is. Pala turns the music down, and Dean looks up.   


“Did you say something, Dean?”   


“No, Pala.”   


She frowns and shakes her head back and forth. Dean wonders how she coulda heard anything over the music anyway.   


But, she says, “Come on, Dean, sing with me!”   


So, he does, 'cause it makes her laugh, and he likes it when she does.   
  


*

  
Dean has new shoes, and Pala helped him try on jeans and find ones that fit, and now she is looking at all the shirts, asking him which ones he likes. But he has shirts already, Becky bought them. This is all money. Daddy worries about money.  
Pala stops looking at the shirts and gets down on the ground by him.  


“Dean, you don’t have to worry. I’m going to take care of you. Okay? Me, Becky, and Sam have money.”

“Sammy is my little brother. I’m supposed to take care of him,” he says 'cause she wants him to talk and not just think all the time even though she hears him.

“Right now, he’s bigger than you.”

“So?”

Pala shakes her head, but she’s smiling at him. She touches his cheek and messes with his hair.

“You like Batman, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

She grabs a blue shirt and gives it to him. It has Batman on it. Dean likes it.

“How much money is it?”

“Do you like it?”

Dean doesn’t say nothing, and Pala hugs him. She puts the shirt in the buggy, then grabs a couple others and puts them in too.

“Dean, do you trust me?”

He nods, shows her in his head how he does, and she stands up.

“Then, let me worry about money, and you think about what you’re going to draw for Becky. Okay, baby?”

Dean looks up at her. He’s supposed to take care of Sammy and Pala.

“Dean…”

She looks sad, and Dean doesn’t want her to be sad. Pala said he should draw a picture for Becky. He takes her hand.

“Can we go look at colors now, Pala?”

*

Pala stands in the toy aisle, Dean practically glued to her side, one hand on his shoulder and the other on their basket. She has his favorite foods, new clothes, some decent shoes to replace the sandals he’s wearing, a few children’s books and several coloring books which pair nicely with the huge box of crayons. He’s staring at everything in front of him, quiet and reserved, and she wants to cry, because he hasn’t made a move toward anything.

He is already John’s obedient little soldier.

Again, she kneels down in front of him so she can look into his soft green eyes. 

“Dean, I don’t know how to pick out toys. Can you help me?”

He points, and she follows his finger to a big box of legos. She reaches forward and pulls them off the shelf, holds them out to him.

“Do you want these? And don’t ask about the money, we have plenty.”

He nods, and she is relieved by this small accomplishment.

“What else?” she asks, standing to drop the box in with their other stuff, and he steps away from her to grab a few action figures.

Those go in the cart too, and though he doesn’t complain, she knows he’s getting tired. He needs a nap, especially after the spell he managed last night, so she scoops him up, settles him onto her hip. She’s getting used to this, carrying him around, and she likes it, wishes that she could have another chance to do this, with Dean’s son and not Dean himself.

She pushes the thought away, along with the memories of a scared ultrasound technician and a doctor telling her she would never have children. That’s old business, and it has no place in the here and now.

Dean is looking at something, so she focuses on that instead, and she’s surprised to find his attention is on a teddy bear. The stuffed animal is soft, with fur the same color as Dean’s hair, and a sweet, simple smile. She crosses the floor and pulls it out of the bin, hands it to Dean, who holds it carefully, rubbing its belly with one tiny hand.

“What’s his name?” she asks, and Dean shrugs. “Well, if you don’t want him, I do.”

“Maybe it’s a girl bear,” says Dean.

“Maybe. Maybe she’s a mama bear. You know, mama bears are pretty protective of their babies, just like your mom was.”

“She could be Mom Bear.”

“Sure. Can we take Mom Bear home with us?”

Dean nods, drops his head against her shoulder and pulls the bear in close to his chest. He’s thinking about Mary.

“Your mom loved you very much, Dean. She still does.”

He doesn’t say anything, just pets the bear and cuddles closer to her. Pala squeezes him into a hug, then places him in the basket and pushes them toward the checkout lanes, a lot of things on her mind. Not the least of which is if she’ll be sending this Dean back to John when she brings her own back.

But standing in line, Dean busy playing with his Mom Bear, her thoughts drift to what’s hidden under her shirt, how she could have sworn she heard something whispering to her in the car. Dean was good about hiding the Mark’s effect, even from her, but maybe she’s just not as strong as he was.

Dean helps put everything on the conveyor belt, and the cashier smiles at him.

“Your son is very helpful.”

“He’s not my son. He’s my…”

_ Soulmate. Everything. _

“Pala is my lady,” he supplies clearly and precisely. The cashier looks at Pala questioningly.

“I’m a friend of the family’s. His godmother, I guess, if we were religious people.”

“Oh.”

Pala forces a smile. “He’s a big help,” she says, trying to move past the awkward moment. “I’m lucky to have him.”

Dean beams under her praise, and she ruffles his hair. The cashier’s smile is back. She’s an older lady, quick to scan everything, carrying on a conversation with Dean while Pala pulls three fifties out of Dean’s wallet. She hands over the cash, then stops before she folds the worn leather.

Her driver’s license is in with the bills.

_ Oh, Dean. _

She loves the child in front of her, but with everything she is, she misses the man this wallet belongs to.

*

Driving back to the bunker, Pala keeps glancing in the rearview mirror at Dean who is singing along with the radio. She keeps thinking he’s talking to her, but he hasn’t stopped his rendition of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s greatest hits since they left Walmart. It’s aggravating, this constant sense that someone is speaking to her, and she thinks that maybe she should talk to Sam and come clean about the Mark, because obviously she’s not nearly as strong as Dean was. It was months before it started to affect him- she hasn’t even been human a full day.

She’s watched and listened as he struggled with the Mark’s influence, witnessed his nightmares before he started sleeping in their room again, heard his fears about what he was turning into. As much as Dean allowed her, Pala has been with him since he started down this path, sharing his burden.

She thinks back, to the long hours in the garage or in strange parking lots, days passing where she could not speak, even when spoken to. How the car she’s now driving was simply the cage she chose for herself, with nothing to do but worry and hurt and wish there was something,  _ anything _ , she could do to ease Dean’s heartache. Becoming the car again, trapping herself inside a steel prison: it changed her body, but not her experiences, not her deeper connection to Dean. It didn’t change what they are to each other.

_ Soulmates,  _ she thinks again.

Pala glances back at Dean, then pulls into the garage and parks. She’ll have to be strong enough, because both brothers need her to be. There isn’t another choice. Sam can’t do it all on his own, and Dean can’t even read yet.

Sam is in the library when she and Dean come in, Dean holding onto Mom Bear as he walks straight up to his brother and hugs him.

“Hey, Dean. What you got there?”

Suddenly, he’s shy, and he looks back to Pala, and she smiles encouragingly, answers for him.

“That’s Mom Bear,” she tells Sam. “I wanted to bring her home. Dean’s taking good care of her for me.”

“I see that.”

Pala laughs, sits on the table, her toes just brushing the floor. Sam isn’t as good with kids as Dean is, especially not when that kid is his older brother and hugging a stuffed animal, standing as close as humanly possible. But, she admits, the younger Winchester is managing, keeping a hand on Dean’s back in lieu of letting him into his lap.

“How was it?” Sam asks. “Driving the car?”

It’s a loaded question. She’d thought it would feel weird, uncomfortable, that it would remind her of every day of the last two years where all she wanted was to get out of it. Instead, it had been… freeing. Empowering, even. It was all too easy to slip behind the wheel. She knows every intricate detail of the Impala, the best way to turn the wheel to make a tight corner, the exact amount of pressure to accelerate and brake smoothly. After all, it used to be her.

But, all she says to Sam is, “Good. Really good.”

Maybe tomorrow morning, if they go running, she’ll tell him a little more about what it’s like to drive the Impala. For now though, Dean is starting to wilt, and she knows he needs to take a nap before lunch, and that’s her first priority. Sam looks down when Dean yawns, surprising her when he stands and lifts his brother into his arms.

“I’m gonna…”

He lets out a soft puff of laughter: he’s about to tuck his big brother into bed. Pala laughs as well. The Winchesters can’t do anything normal.

“I’ve got a ton of crap in the backseat. I’m going to bring that in, then we can get to work. Sound good?”

“Yeah. I’ll meet you back here.”

“Pala?”

She pushes off the table, steps next to Sam so she can rub Dean’s back.

“I know you’re tired, baby. Sam’s going to take you to our room so you can sleep while we work.”

“I wanna help.”

“I know you do, but you can’t help if you’re sleepy. When you wake up, you can draw that picture for Becky, and that’ll be a big help. Won’t it, Sam?”

She looks at Sam pointedly, grateful when he takes the hint and hurries to agree with her. Dean nods and slumps against his brother, eyes fluttering closed. Pala moves away from the pair, heading back to the garage to get everything from her shopping trip. Dean’s going to need something to entertain him in a couple hours.

Belatedly, Pala realizes she should have bought herself some new clothes, even if it’s not really the right season for long sleeves to be in stock. She’ll need to order some online, doesn’t want Sam to start asking why she’s only wearing Dean’s shirts, but then again, maybe he won’t. He’s observant, not intrusive. Probably, he’ll just think she misses Dean, her Dean, and that’s not even a lie.

The floorboard is covered in bags, and Pala sits down in the backseat as she starts to gather them up, the plastic rustling, smooth against her palms, and then, grabbing for a few more, her hand closes around something far more solid.

The Blade cuts through the bags when she jerks her arm back. It hurts, almost electric, a strong pulse riding throughout her veins, and the sensation steals her breath, shoots fine tremors through her limbs. It’s painful, but… it feels good at the same time. Meant to be. This is hers, the weight perfect in her hand, and she gasps, an absolute power settling inside her, imprinting itself onto every cell, until finally, her body sinks against the cushion, the First Blade laying across her lap, her fingers still wrapped around the hilt. Pala takes in a few deep breaths, calming herself, then stands up, tucks the Blade’s handle into the waistband of her jeans, under her shirt, the smooth bone pressing against her spine. Her worries from this morning die.

There is nothing she can’t do now.


	46. Five

One. Two.  _ Headshot.  _ Four. Five.  _ Heart. Lungs.  _ Seven.

Pala drops the clip out of Dean’s favorite pistol, replaces it with a full one and raises it, fires again.

One.  _ Central mass.  _ Four.  _ Groin. Femoral. Headshot. _

She lays the gun down on the shelf, then hops over the counter to walk across the range and study her target. Perfect shots, every one of them. She hasn’t missed yet.

She shouldn’t be this good.

Pala was decent, not great, not bad, when she was human the last time. She could get close to what she was aiming at, but this type of accuracy takes time to build, and after two years of sitting in a garage, she shouldn’t be better. But she is.

She walks back to her starting point, climbs back into the booth, and begins reloading the magazines. Even this is easier than it once was.

She’s been human for a week now, and her life is developing a familiar routine. An early morning run with Sam, shower, breakfast, research. She avoids the garage- Pala has spent enough time there to last her a lifetime.

Dean stays in bed until she finishes her shower, though he’s usually awake and waiting for her by then. She kisses his cheeks and tickles him until he laughs, then scoops him up and carries him to breakfast. Not because she needs to, but because he likes that she does. It’s something special between the two of them. He sits next to her while she and Sam and Becky research spells about age reversal, coloring in pages from one of his books or drawing pictures. He’s a relatively content child, able to sit quietly for hours at a time, feet swinging in mid air, sometimes shifting in his seat, but otherwise, he’s just as focused as the adults.

Pala knows that he doesn’t like that they talk about him, and he’s figured out he’s supposed to be big like his brother, which bothers him. They’ve had a few talks about it during bath time and before bed, and she isn’t sure how to explain it, but she does her best. Mostly, she tries to convince him not to worry about it and promises that she’s going to take care of him.

He, of course, promises her the same thing, with that all too serious expression on his face.

The last two nights, she’s slipped out of bed to come down here and take out her frustration on innocent paper men. It’s past midnight, but Pala can’t sleep, drawn out to the range with Dean’s gun. Looking at her hands on the mother of pearl grip, she remembers how his looked, how he held it like it was simply an extension of himself and not a separate object. Standing in what she thinks of as their booth, it’s impossible not to think about Dean and all the ways she misses him, misses the man with the loud laugh and soft kiss who loves her every bit as fiercely as she loves him.

And yet, the child the genie left in that man’s place, he has quickly won her heart, just like he did decades ago when she first learned what it meant to care for someone. He always has a smile for her, always offering to help her no matter what mundane task she’s in the middle of. Dean is easy to love at any age, but this young, he’s particularly sweet.

Pala sighs. This is all such a goddamn mess.

She slides the magazine back into the pistol and raises it again. Really, she should be wearing the protective gear the Men of Letters left behind, make an effort to save her hearing, but she just can’t be bothered. She likes the sound, the way the shot echoes all around her, blocking out all the rest. What she really needs is a hunt, a distraction from everything that’s going on, but with Dean so attached to her, she can’t justify leaving. Her place will always be with him.

It would feel so good to kill something, though.

And Pala knows, this isn’t a good sign. Since she touched the Blade, she’s wanted a hunt, wanted a chance to test it out. But more, she feels… better. Stronger, more in control. Unstoppable. She can do this, hide the Mark, curb the edge of that dark desire licking at her bones… long enough to get Dean back, her partner. She can do this.

_ Left leg. Right leg. Headshot. _

_ Trisha’s smile. That damn smile. _

The target falls to the floor.

*

She’s tired come morning, and she doesn’t particularly want to get out of bed. Dean has starfished himself around her, Mom Bear tucked against his elbow, the soft furry face tucked under Pala’s chin, Dean’s head pressed against her shoulder. She kisses his hair, then gently peels him off of her, sneaking out of bed to change in the bathroom, pulling on her sneakers even though she wants to crawl back next to her little boy and his bear.

Sam is waiting for her outside the bunker.

“Ready?” he asks.

He’s in a t-shirt and shorts, while she’s in another of Dean’s long-sleeved thermals. Luckily, it’s not too hot in the early hour.

She nods, lets Sam set the pace, and it’s easy to keep up with him, even with their height difference. Pala enjoys this, pushing herself, the feel of her soles hitting the pavement, her lungs expanding deeply with each inhale. The exertion is settling, burning through her excess energy, reminds her that she’s alive and no longer inside a motionless frame.

She comes to a full stop, though, as they come up on the spot where Trisha was waiting for her. Sam goes another few steps before he turns back, going still as she looks around.

Pala smiles, but it’s thin, forced, and humorless.

“Sorry,” she tells him. “I know we’ve been past here every day for a week, but…”

“It’s okay.”

Sam really means that, she can tell, his expression kind and open, waiting to see if she wants to talk or not. There’s nothing to say. The significance of this random stretch of road is long behind them. Standing on it this morning, for whatever reason, Pala feels a sick seed of hatred bloom in her chest. The witch with the never-failing smile got off too easy.

“You asked what it was like driving the car,” Pala begins, looking into her brother’s attentive face. “It was a lot better than being stuck in it. Being able to control it, move it, get out when I wanted to… you can’t imagine, Sammy, what it was like to only be able to sit and listen after having walked, having spoken… having touched and made love and…  _ lived.  _ To watch Dean…” Her voice cracks, and she shakes her head. “To see him fall apart and not be able to…” She swallows. “That stupid bitch didn’t deserve two in the head. It was too good for her.”

Sam takes a cautious step towards her, and Pala walks into his arms, hugs him tightly, very aware of the Mark touching Sam’s ribs through the fabric of their shirts.

“Pala, I… she didn’t. But, I get what it was like. Not all of it, but seeing Dean… nothing could touch his grief. Not until he was finally able to talk to you.” He pulls her closer, wraps his arms more securely around her. “I’m sorry, Pala. I’m so sorry that I didn’t wait for you that morning. If I had, maybe…”

He doesn’t have to finish his thought for her to know what it is.

“Dean never blamed you. Neither did I. Trisha would have gotten me one way or another.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Pala steps away, out of Sam’s reach. Maybe she should tell him. It’s hard to keep this from him. He trusts her completely, and she’s lying to him.

“I’m glad you’re back, Pala,” he says. “I missed you. And it’s just… it’s good to have you home.”

“It’s good to be home and not sitting on the pavement. Let’s cut it short this morning, okay? See if we can’t figure out what’s going on.”

“Sure.”

His agreement is effortless, and he falls in step with her as they head back. Sam is her brother, her friend. Lying to him feels wrong, but he looks relaxed, comfortable around her, and she saw how worried he was once Dean gained the Mark. She doesn’t want him to worry about her.

With Dean unable to, it’s her job to take care of Sammy right now, so she says,

“Did I ever tell you about the day your dad found out Mary was pregnant with you?”

*

Dean decided he didn’t want to color today, so instead, he and Becky are in an armchair reading together. Pala and Sam are seated across the table from one another, Becky’s voice drifting in from the next room as she reads aloud. For his part, Dean is enraptured with the simple story, and Pala lets both Becky’s gentle cadence and Dean’s thoughts soothe her as she works.

There’s plenty of information on genies, but whether it’s reliable is the question. She’s on page one hundred of her Google search, several books spread out on the table before her as she cross-references each small fact she finds. Sam is still fruitlessly searching for a spell to change Dean, and Pala is fairly certain that whatever the genie did can only be undone by one. Their brand of magick isn’t even comparable to a witch’s, or at least, that’s what she thinks. Nothing is out of the realm of possibility at this point.

She guesses they could try doing what Dean did. Just light a few candles and say a few words. Maybe that would be enough. But, they don’t even know how Dean managed to change her, why his spell worked so perfectly. There’s no explanation for that, just like there’s no explanation Pala can find for why she now has the Mark.

Dean wanted her, more than he wanted anything, and for whatever reason, the genie granted that wish by making him five years old again, giving him the ability to see past the complications. As far as they can tell, it didn’t give Dean any further abilities, just the one he wanted most.

Pala sighs. If only any one part of it made sense. If only Dean had become an adult when she became a human. If only anything, really, because they’re stuck.

Missouri flashes into Pala’s mind, dark skin and rich voice, familiar and friendly, and Pala wonders where the woman is. Then, she realizes it’s not her thought, but Dean’s.

She pushes away from the table and crosses into the next room, kneels in front of Dean. Becky lays the book down, and they both look at Pala questioningly.

“Dean. What were you just thinking?”

He frowns, reaches out and touches Pala’s shoulder, suddenly concerned that he’s done something wrong. She takes his small hand in her own and squeezes comfortingly.

“Baby, you’re not in trouble. What were you thinking about just now?”

And she sees it in his mind, Missouri babysitting while Mary was in the hospital giving birth to Sam, reading to him like Becky was moments ago. Missouri, Mom’s friend, his friend. He hasn’t seen her in a long time, and he wonders what she’s doing.

“Do you miss Missouri?” asks Pala.

Dean nods. “Daddy hasn’t taken us to visit since… since a long time ago.”

“Missouri?” asks Becky. “The psychic.”

Pala looks up at her. “Yeah. She was Mary’s best friend. Dean forgot about her eventually.”

“I wonder… it’s been about ten years since they saw her, but- well, they keep a lot of numbers, don’t they?”

“I have her number,” says Sam. “It’s been a while, but she probably still lives in Lawrence.”

Pala turns her gaze back to Dean, listening to what he’s not saying. He wants to know if they can call her.

“Do you want me to call Missouri, Dean? See if she can come see you?”

“Can we?” he asks.

*

Pala insists to Sam that she should be the one to make the call, even though he’s the one who has history with her. It feels like her responsibility.

She’s nervous, calling a woman she hasn’t thought about in years, that she’s never formally met, but she swallows it down and hits the call button, tapping her foot, leaned into the corner of the wall. It barely rings once before Missouri answers.

“Hello, Pala.”

“I…” Pala starts in surprise. “Hello, Missouri,” she says for lack of something else to say. “I’m-”

“Didn’t you hear me say your name? I know who you are, child. And I’ll be there, don’t you worry. Couldn’t pass up a chance to see that little boy again. I’m only a few hours away, but I’m going to get lost, so it’s going to take a little longer for me to get there.”

“I-  _ what? _ ”

“I knew you’d be calling, and I know where those boys have been staying. They don’t call, but it doesn’t mean I don’t keep an eye out when I can.”

“But, if you know, then why are you going to get lost?” asks Pala, struggling to keep up with the speed and direction this conversation has taken.

“I don’t make the rules. I’ll be there. I’m looking forward to meeting you.”

All Pala can think to say is, “Same here.”

They hang up without a goodbye, and Dean walks in a beat later, followed by Sam and Becky. Pala picks him up and smiles at him, trying to mask her bewilderment.

“Want to help me set up a room for your friend?”

Sam asks, “So, she’s coming then?”

“She’s already on her way.”

Becky shrugs. “Psychics.”


	47. Six

Pala is helping Dean build a yellow house with his legos. She is getting all of the yellow legos for him. Dean is making the bottom of the house right now. It’s not very big, but that’s okay.

“Do you like yellow, Pala?”

“I do.”

“Good.”

She smiles at him. “Who’s the house for, Dean?”

Dean frowns at her, ‘cause duh, “It’s for you.”

Pala stops what she’s doing. She opens her arms, and Dean crawls into her lap and hugs her.

“Thank you, Dean,” she says.

He nods. “You’re my lady.”

He scoots away and looks up at her. He touches her cheek and then pushes her hair away from her face. She looks like something is wrong. She doesn’t want anybody to know, but Dean can tell. Pala isn’t happy.

“Pala? What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing’s wrong, Dean.”

He shakes his head. “No, Pala. Don’t lie, lying is bad. I can help. I help a lot. Don’t I?”

She sighs, smiles real small, but her eyes get watery. Pala taps his nose with her finger. “You’re very smart. And yes, you’re a very big help, baby.”

“Then I can help you with what’s wrong.”

Pala kisses his forehead and runs her fingers through his hair. “I’m nervous about meeting Missouri.”

“Why?”

Missouri is a nice lady. She’s not scary at all. Pala has scared away ghosts like his dad, why is she worried about seeing Dean’s friend? Friends are nice.

“I just am, Dean.”

Dean holds Pala’s face in his hands and looks into her pretty eyes, he wants to make sure she is paying attention to him. This is important.

“Pala, Missouri will like you. She will. You’re my lady, and she’s my friend. It’s gonna be okay. I promise. I’ll hold your hand when she gets here, though, and I’ll… I’ll um…” He frowns. What’s the way to say it?

“You’ll introduce us?” Pala asks, gently.

Dean nods. “Yeah, that’s it. I’ll do that.”

She kisses his forehead and pulls him into a hug. His head is under her chin, and he plays with her necklace. He doesn’t think Pala wants to keep building the house right now, and that’s okay.

“I love you, Dean.”

“I love you too, Pala.”

She moves back, and Dean wipes a few tears off her cheeks. He wants to know why she’s crying. She shakes her head.

“I’m okay, baby. What did I do to deserve you?”

“You’re mine. I’m yours. That’s how this is.”

Why do grown ups have to make things so complicated?

She laughs. “Let’s build our house. We can show it to Missouri after you introduce us.”

Dean thinks this is a very good idea.

Sammy suddenly appears, he’s smiling, which is good, and Dean smiles back. Dean points at the yellow house, explains to his too big baby brother what he’s doing, and then his brother sits down next to him.

“Can I help?”

“Of course, Sammy. We always share toys, 'member?”

“I do,” says Sammy, kinda sad, and Dean frowns.

He pats his brother’s arm. “You can play, Sammy. It’s okay.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Sammy looks over at Pala, his face looking like Daddy’s when Daddy needs something from Dean and it’s very important. “Pala, why don’t you go get some sleep? Missouri won’t be here for a few hours, and…” His brother stops, but Pala just smiles, but it doesn’t seem real.

“And I look tired?” she asks. “Yeah, I am. But, Dean and I are in the middle of a very important project, you see.”

“I think I can handle it,” Sammy says, smiling again.

“Pala, are you sleepy?” Dean asks. She hasn’t been in bed a lot. He doesn’t say nothing about it, 'cause she gets up real quiet, so he pretends to be sleeping. But he knows. “Pala, you should take a nap. I have to sometimes too, it’s okay.”

She takes his hand, tugs him into her arms, and Dean is happy to hug her back, rub her shoulders.

“You sure, baby?” she asks. “I can stay. We can build our house.”

“Sammy will help me.” Dean pulls away so he can look at her. “You need a nap. I can come with you if you want me to.”

She smiles and shakes her head. Pala leans down and kisses his cheek, stands up.

“I’ll see you in a few hours. Thanks, Sam.”

“No problem,” his brother says.

Dean watches her go. He needs to be better, 'cause he is supposed to take care of his lady, and she isn’t sleeping, so something must be wrong. Daddy can’t sleep sometimes either, and it usually means he’s having bad dreams or doesn’t_ want _ to have the bad dreams about the night the monster took Mom away.

“What do we need to do next, Dean?” asks Sammy.

Dean looks at his brother. His eyes are still the same, and he smiles, then points to the house he’s gonna make for Pala.

*

Pala sits at the kitchen table, Dean’s laptop in front of her, taking advantage of her privacy to research the Mark of Cain. Not that she’s finding anything Sam already hasn’t, and there has never been any information on her own situation. It doesn’t take long for her to grow frustrated. She’s hot, and she can’t roll up her sleeves or change into a t-shirt.

Dean made good on his promise to introduce her to Missouri, and Pala is relieved by the woman’s kind welcome. The little boy had grabbed the psychic’s hand and pulled her away almost immediately, while Sam and Becky had disappeared not long after the initial hellos were over, once it was clear that Missouri’s first priority is Dean. That’s something Pala respects, even if his obvious adoration of the older woman makes an ugly emotion rise in her chest. 

She sighs, looks away from the screen to stare across the room, steel eyes landing on a half empty bottle of whiskey.

And remembers the taste of it on Dean’s lips, the warmth of his arms surrounding her as he kissed her lips.

Getting to her feet, she goes straight to the bottle and unscrews the cap, presses her lips to the mouth and drinks. It burns her throat, makes her cough, nose stinging and eyes burning, but past that- The taste is familiar. Dean’s kiss. And she takes another sip, slower, more cautious. It’s better this time, and as she puts the bottle back on the counter, the glass clinking, a shiver of pleasure runs down her spine, warmth pooling in her belly. She lets her eyes drops shut, a few tears falling onto her cheeks, and she clenches her fists against the sudden sharp feeling in her chest.

“Pala?”

Becky’s voice is hesitant, concerned, and Pala turns around, not bothering to wipe her tears away. Her best friend steps forward and pulls her into a hug, and Pala sinks into the affection, wraps her arms around the blonde, swallowing a sob. She is so tired, so aware of the brand on her arm pressing against Becky’s back as she clings to the other woman, and she willingly soaks up the comfort she’s been offered. Becky doesn’t say anything, just rubs Pala’s back, smooths the loose curls on the back of her head.

Pala isn’t sure how long they stand like this, measuring time in relation to the hurt in her chest, pulling away when it fades to a full ache. When she leans back, Becky’s arms slide to rest on her elbows, clearly not willing to let her go yet. Her light green eyes are troubled, her naturally smiling mouth tense and turned down as she studies the brunette. Pala shifts uncomfortably, Becky’s thumb dangerously close to the Mark, but she doesn’t want to break their contact just yet either.

“I’m sorry,” says Pala. “It’s just that…”

_ Dean is a child. I have the Mark. I’m tired, and I’m scared, and I’m angry, and it’s hard to sleep. Ever since I touched the First Blade, I want to kill. I’m not strong enough _.

So many options to finish that sentence, and her shoulders slump in defeat, staring into her best friend’s eyes. Secrets always get the Winchesters killed.

“It’s just that, I…” she begins.

“Pala,” Becky interrupts, gentle and understanding. “You just spent two years in captivity. Your partner is five. And your best friend is kind of a head case. Nobody expects you to… You’re not made out of steel anymore, Pala.”

“You’re not a head case,” she replies automatically, frowning when Becky rolls her eyes. “Becky, you’re not. You’re doing so well.”

Pala takes a deep breath, then lays her hands on Becky’s shoulders, squeezing tightly, looking at her intensely.

“I mean it. You’re doing great. We’re all doing the best we can, and your best is more than enough. Okay?”

Becky smiles, shakes her head. “Okay.” She pauses for a second, then says, “You know, this is the first time we’ve really gotten to spend together since you turned human.”

Pala considers this. She and Becky used to talk several times a week, and she always wished she could have what she has now: The ability to reach out, to hug her friend, to truly laugh with her until her stomach ached. There hasn’t been much opportunity for that, or maybe, she just hasn’t made the effort. Either way, she feels a heavy guilt sink down on her.

But all she says is, “I guess so. Maybe we could go do something, the two of us.”

“After Dean is grown again.”

“I don’t think we should wait for that,” Pala says. “Our research is going nowhere, and Dean would be the one to tell us that all work and no play doesn’t help.”

Even as she says it, she knows it’s not completely true. Dean never stopped, not for two years, not even at five years old, not laid up in Becky’s guest room close to death. Pala won’t stop either, but she owes it to Becky to be a good friend.

“I can wait,” the blonde tells her. “Not like I don’t know how to get a hold of you.”

Pala grins, and before she can say anything, Dean, Sam, and Missouri enter the kitchen. Dean rushes straight towards her. and she easily swoops him up into her arms and settles him onto her hip. His face is lit up with joy, and Pala aches, torn between missing the man he was and the love she has for the child he is now.

“That’s quite the house he’s built for you,” Missouri says.

Pala chuckles, looking at the psychic over Dean’s head. “I’m a lucky lady.”

Dean giggles, lays his head on her shoulder. Sam is smiling, drifting over to Becky to ease an arm around her waist, pulling her in close so he can press his lips to her temple. Becky looks up at him, eyes soft and adoring, and Pala hugs Dean tighter to her.

At least she still has him. He’s here and warm and alive, and she can hold him. For now, this is enough. It has to be.

Missouri is looking at her appraisingly, and Pala closes her eyes, turns her head to press her cheek against Dean’s soft curls. How much does Missouri know? What, exactly, do her psychic powers enable her to do? To see?

“Oh.” Missouri sounds amused, a little surprised.

Pala opens her eyes, sees a large smile on the woman’s face, focused on Sam and Becky.

“Becky,” says Missouri. “Honey, you’re pregnant. Congratulations.”

It goes absolutely silent in the kitchen, and Dean lifts his head up at the news.

_ Pregnant, _she hears him think to himself. He’s heard the word, and he’s trying to remember what it means.

“It means Becky’s going to have a baby,” Missouri answers, reminding Pala that she’s no longer the only one who can hear Dean’s thoughts.

Pala growls low, so quiet even Dean barely registers it in his excitement. He wiggles in her arms until she sets him down, and he rushes over to his brother and Becky, throwing his arms around both their knees.

“You’re gonna be a dad, Sammy!” he exclaims.

Becky’s eyes are wide, and Sam has a blank expression for a solid minute, but then he blinks and it’s gone, replaced with a wide grin. He lifts his brother into his arms with a laugh.

“You’re gonna be an uncle,” Sam says. He looks down at Becky, leans down to kiss her, ignoring Dean’s noise of protest.

Becky pulls away, looks over at Missouri.

“How do you… never mind.”

Pala watches as the shock wears away from her friend, Becky’s eyes bright with happiness as she turns to look at Sam, one hand falling onto her pelvis, palm pressed protectively over her womb.

“You’re gonna be a daddy,” she says to Sam.

“You’re gonna be a mom.”

Sam sets Dean down, then pulls Becky into his arms, hugging her tightly, his face buried in her hair. Dean stands back, beaming proudly at his brother. In fact, Pala notices out of the corner of her eye, the only person not looking at the parents-to-be is the one who delivered the news.

Without a word, Pala slips out of the kitchen. This is her brother’s, her best friend’s, moment, and she doesn’t want her own upset to dampen it. She rushes into the garage, far away from the scene in the kitchen, closing the door behind her and leaning against it for support. Several long deep breaths are the only sound, and she stares across the concrete at the Impala.

At her former self. At her prison.

The reason she and Dean will never have the moment Becky and Sam are having.

Walking towards the car, she takes in the long sleek curves, the immaculate paint, the perfectly clear windows. The closer she gets, the angrier she becomes. Dean’s toolbox is right next to it, and she opens it, grabs the largest and heaviest wrench she can find, over a foot long and a solid weight in her hands.

She steps next to the trunk and swings.

“_The reason why you never had children.” _

“_I have a family.” _

“_You had to want to be human.” _

_ Killkillkill _

Pala smashes the wrench into the trunk, metallic sound reverberating in the garage, the curve of the tool biting into the Impala’s paint. It isn’t fair. None of it is, and she breathes heavy with the pain of it, dents forming, smooth black chipping away. Dean would be furious if he could see this.

Angrily, she thinks, _ Let him be. If it brings him back to fix it. _

The garage door opens, and Pala’s arm drops to her side, the wrench knocking against her thigh. Missouri shuts the door and moves to stand across from Pala, looking from her to the battered car. Pala’s eyes are filled with tears, several streaming down her face, but the psychic doesn’t comment or make a move to soothe her. She just clucks sympathetically, then looks at Pala’s arm, where a sleeve covers her secret, then locks her brown eyes on Pala’s steel ones.

“We need to talk about the Mark on your arm.”


	48. Seven

_ She knows. _

From the second Pala got off the phone with Missouri, this has been her fear. She squeezes the wrench tightly in her fist, knuckles straining over the solid metal. The psychic’s gaze drops to Pala’s side.

“You gonna hit me with that?” Missouri asks, unconcerned. “Or are you gonna set it down and talk to me?”

Pala takes a deep breath, swallows hard around the lump in her throat. She wants to tell Missouri that she would never hurt an innocent person, but there’s a darker current running through her veins that views the woman as a threat, a current that has her gripping the wrench tighter, skin stretched uncomfortably. For her part, Missouri doesn’t seem bothered by this.

“Pala.”

Pala lets out a heavy breath and nods, drops the wrench onto the trunk. It lands with a harsh metallic sound, and she leans against the frame, crossing her arms over her chest.

“When did you know?”

“As soon as I shook your hand,” Missouri says, pleasant and calm.

“Do you know why I have it?”

“I got a few ideas, nothing you haven’t come up with on your own. I never heard of the Mark before today, and I don’t know much about it- Just what I’ve seen from you and Sam. But that kind of power can’t be held by a child, not a normal one. It’s coming off of you in waves. Dark and angry and strong.”

_ Too strong, _ Pala thinks to herself, sees Missouri’s accompanying nod.

“Far too strong for a child, and it can’t be undone. Someone has to carry it. You’re bound to Dean, so I think that when you turned… Well, that’s as good an explanation as any other.” She shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter  _ why _ you got it, now does it? What matters is you got it, and now you got to deal with it.”

Pala considers this. It’s hard to find fault with that logic, but it isn’t particularly helpful. Dean was so much stronger than her. He carried the same burden she carries now, and it was months, so many months, before he started to show signs of wear.

“That’s not true,” says Missouri, and Pala glares. Missouri doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe she doesn’t care. “Pala, think back. You felt everything he felt.”

And Pala closes her eyes, a few fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. Dean. Strong and whole and a man, sitting with her late into the night, when the time turned to the wee morning hours, talking.

_ When Becky finds a way to save you, _ he would tell her silently,  _ the Mark won’t matter. _

_ I love your voice, _ Dean said so many times.

The burn of whiskey, still sharp in his throat no matter how many bottles he swallowed. On good days, he drank beer. There weren’t many good days.

_ It doesn’t bother me, _ he assured her, tugging his sleeve over the brand.  _ I got you. _

And deeper, so faint beneath the intensity of his love for her and hers for him… That same darkness that runs through her now, easy to miss, but there all the same.

“I failed him,” Pala says, eyes still shut. “It was there, and I didn’t-”

“You didn’t fail him. You’re the reason he held on,” says Missouri. “You need him.”

“I  _ have _ him. He’s right down the hall.”

“That little boy loves you with everything he is and ever was. But, he’s still a child, and you can’t blame a woman for needing the man she’s meant for.”

Pala looks at Missouri, into the soft brown eyes, and the psychic smiles, gentle and sad, nodding.

“Pala, it’s okay. You’re doing fine. Dean isn’t the only one who has carried the Mark all this time. You’ve felt what he’s felt. It’s not as hard, but it still takes a toll on you.”

“Are you going to tell them?”

Missouri shakes her head. “That’s not my place. I keep secrets, Pala, because my gift doesn’t give me the right to meddle. But, I think you should tell them soon.”

Pala ignores the advice, and Missouri sighs.

“You gotta get out of here. You need to get back to the family business.”

“Becky can’t keep Dean on her own.”

“Who said she was gonna be alone? I’m staying for a little while, long enough for you to get some things straightened out.”

Pala looks at her curiously, then shakes her head, lets out a laugh. “You found me and Sam a case,” she says.

Missouri grins. “Sometimes, I meddle anyway.”

*

Dean is sitting on the bed, kicking his legs. Pala and Sammy are going away, and she is packing her bag. He wants to go with her.

She stops and turns around, gets down in front of him, lays her hands real soft on his hands. He looks at her, and she smiles at him.

“I’ll be back before you know it, baby.”

He sighs. He wants to go too. Dean can help. He’s helped Daddy before, after the monsters were gone. Daddy says he’s a big help. And Sammy may be too tall now, but Dean’s always been able to take care of his baby brother. Plus, Pala needs him.

“You’re a very big help to me, Dean. But, what I need from you is to stay here with Becky. She’s…” Pala swallows. “She’s going to be a mommy, so you need to look out for her too. And Missouri is staying here, she wants to spend time with you. Me and Sammy will have each other. We can’t leave Becky and Missouri all alone, can we?”

Dean shakes his head no. “But. Why can’t we all go?”

Pala smiles. “Becky wants to stay home, and Missouri doesn’t want to go.”

“I want to go, Pala. I wanna go with you and Sammy.”

“Dean…”

She closes her eyes, and Dean puts his hands on her shoulders.

“Pala, I can help. I wanna go with you.”

“I know you do, baby.” She looks at him, and her eyes are sad.

“Why can’t I go? Daddy takes me with him.”

“I know he does, but you’ll have more fun here.”

“But, Pala…”

Daddy is gone. He hasn’t seen him since Sammy got big, and if Daddy can’t come back…

“Baby, I promise you, I’m coming home. I am. Your daddy… He didn’t leave you. He just… He can’t be here, right now. And, I have to go. Sammy and me- People are getting hurt.” She pauses. “I know you know how important this is. And Sammy doesn’t want to leave Becky. He’ll feel a lot better if you’re here with her.”

Dean thinks about this for a minute. If Sammy can’t be with Becky, then maybe he should be.

“Hey, Pala- You ready to go?”

Dean looks up at his brother’s voice, finds Sammy standing at the door. He gets off the bed and walks to his brother, stares up and up and up at him.

“What’s wrong, man?”

“Sammy,” he says. “Sammy, I’ll take care of Becky for you, but you  _ have _ to take care of Pala for me. Okay?”

Sam gets down so he’s closer to Dean, looks the way Daddy does when Daddy says,  _ I’ll be home soon, Dean. Watch after Sammy. _

“I promise, Dean. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to her.”

He believes his brother, looks back to see Pala tugging at her shirt sleeve. He walks back to her, wraps his arms around her neck.

“You’ll take care of Sammy too, won’t you?”

She hugs him back, kisses the side of his face. “I will. I love him just as much as you do.”

“And you’ll come home?” he asks, his head on her shoulder.

“I’ll come home.”

He can hear Sammy stand up and walk away. Pala doesn’t move. She keeps her arms around him, like she won’t let go, not never, and he doesn’t mind that at all. He doesn’t want her to.

When she does pull away, she takes her necklace off and drops it over his head.

“You take care of this while I’m gone, okay?”

He nods and squeezes the legos, watching quietly as she puts more stuff into her bag.

Dean doesn’t think she should go. Dean thinks she should stay here with him.

*

It’s a long drive, and for the first time, Pala is riding shotgun in the car. She’s too tired, too completely drained to sit behind the wheel. Leaving Dean behind was harder than she thought it would be, and she thinks she maybe appreciates how hard it was for her Dean to not let her go on that Screamer hunt years ago.

“You alright?”

She looks over with a smile. “I’m fine. How about you?”

“Leaving never gets easier,” Sam says. “That’s just the job.” He sighs. “It would have been nice, if we could have had more than a day to celebrate.”

Pala winces. How can she tell him that she’s the reason they needed to get on the road? There are other hunters they could have passed this to, but it’s not in Sam to do that if he doesn’t have to. How can she tell her brother that she stole this time from him?

Instead, she says, “You’re gonna be a great dad.”

“I had a good role model.”

She frowns, thinking about John, about all the tension and anger between Sam and his father. Then, she realizes, he’s talking about Dean. She smiles.

“Becky made a doctor’s appointment yet?”

Sam shakes his head. “I told her to, but she says she wants to wait until we get back. So I can go with her.”

Pala looks out the window so she doesn’t have to see his face, the mixture of excitement and frustration. She wants to tell him to turn back around, tell him that the job comes second. Neither brother is John Winchester, and things are going to have to change around the bunker, now that there’s a baby coming. Might as well get a jump start on that.

But, she doesn’t. She wants this hunt too bad,  _ needs _ it. She’s seen how a job took the edge off for Dean in the earlier days, and she needs the relief, needs to give in to the whispers of  _ killkillkill _ . She can save people, continue the family business, and give herself a break all at one time.

_ At what cost, though? _ she wonders, glancing back over.

She should tell him the truth. Missouri is right- She shouldn’t be trying to keep something this big from him, not when it’s taking him away from Becky. Not when something dangerous has taken up shop inside her veins, inside her very core. Sam needs to know what’s really going on.

Pala needs to tell him.

Her fingers rub at the cuff of her shirt, and she inches it up, the tan skin of her forearm coming into view.

_ Pull over, Sam, _ she thinks, then steels herself to say it.

“I, uh.” Sam laughs. “I hope it’s a boy.”

Pala lets her sleeve fall back to her wrist. “Yeah?”

“I know you’re supposed to just want a healthy kid, and I do. If it’s a girl, I’ll still be happy. I mean, of course. She’d be beautiful. But, I could have a son. You know? Another Winchester boy.”

Pala smiles, leans back into the seat and looks over at her brother. “The world can’t ever have too many of those.”

Sam’s happiness is a real thing, filling the atmosphere in the early morning light, and Pala lets herself relax. Her brother isn’t angry or resentful, and it’s easy to push the guilt away. They’re hunters, this is what they do. They hunt the things that go bump in the night, chase away the darkness.

She’s fine. She’ll be fine. There’s no reason to take away Sam’s smile, his excitement, the absolute peace on his face.

Pala crosses her arms, presses the Mark against her stomach, and listens to the joy in Sam’s voice.


	49. Eight

Pala glances over at the passenger seat, where Sam sits still as a statue, staring out the window, pointedly not looking at her. She swallows hard, opens her mouth to speak, and closes it again without saying a word. She looks back at the road, shifts in her seat to relieve the pressure on her back where the dark peppering of bruises protest being against the seat for so many hours. They’re on their way back home, and the ride has been completely silent.

_ Sam crashing onto the ground, the plaster of the wall crumbling in places from his impact. The witch advancing, Pala getting to her feet, left knee almost giving out from the strain. _

The road ahead is dark, white stripes passing by at seventy miles an hour, the stars a constant presence above. Pala risks another look at Sam, the bruises on his temple and jaw, his right arm in a sling, the shoulder newly relocated. Lucky it’s her left knee and not her right that is sprained, because Sam has a concussion and shouldn’t be driving.

_ Her little brother choking on the floor, the witch grinning, and the rage, running over Pala’s skin like a current, refusing to be controlled for even another second. _

“You need some more painkillers?” asks Pala, just to break the silence. It’s suffocating, so different from their usual easy conversation.

Sam shakes his head, reaches forward to turn the radio on. There’s more static than anything, but she doesn’t try to change the station, commercials rolling through the tension in the car, making it marginally more bearable. She rolls down her window to add to the sound, her hair tangling in the breeze, but she doesn’t care. Unconsciously, she licks at her split lip, tasting blood.

_ The witch landing hard beneath her, throat slender and breakable beneath her fingers. Scratches, deep and bloody on Pala’s arms, an unnatural force trying to push her off, but Pala can’t be moved, knees digging into soft thighs, hands squeezing tighter and tighter, pushing the witch into the floor beneath them. _

“You want me to pull over so you can stretch out in the backseat?”

Sam looks over at her, one eyebrow quirked up, and he sighs, which is the most conversation he’s made since they finished their inspection of each other’s wounds.

“I wanna call Becky, make sure she’s okay. Pull over.”

Pala eases the car onto the side of the empty road, puts the hazard lights on and stares at the fabric of the ceiling as Sam steps outside, the door closing solidly behind him.

_ Something giving beneath her palms, breaking easy, a wet choke and dead eyes. A brief moment of satisfaction -that damn grin is long gone, replaced by one of Pala’s own, until she hears Sam’s horrified voice. Hurrying to make sure her sleeves are in place, that the Mark is hidden, and it is, and realizing the real cause of the horror, a human woman dead under Pala’s hands. _

Pala thinks it’s a good thing that Sam has a concussion or he would have insisted on taking a closer look at the deep gouges in her arms. Letting her eyes drop closed, she runs a thumb over one of them, just inside the cuff of her shirt, hidden beneath a thin layer of gauze that makes them itch.

Sam’s voice is low and muffled through the glass, but she catches a few words. 

“…okay, Becks, don’t wor…few hours out…Pala is…scary…”

She doesn’t even disagree. She scares herself.

*

Missouri’s eyes go wide when she walks in the front door, but Dean rushes right to her, almost knocking her over when he bumps into her knees. He looks up at her, reaches to touch her lip, and she can’t lift him, so instead, she takes his hand, and leads him to the nearest table so she can sit down and pull him onto her lap. His touch is so gentle and hesitant, the bruises on her face bringing tears to his eyes, and she smiles even though it hurts.

“It’s okay, baby,” she says. “I’m okay.”

He turns his head to look at Sam who has an arm around Becky, and a stray tear tracks down his cheek.

His voice shakes as he asks, “Sammy? What’s wrong with your arm?”

Sam forces a smile of his own. “Nothing too bad. I’ll be okay in a couple days.”

Dean frowns. “You were s’posed to take care of each other.”

Pala looks up at Sam, pulls Dean in closer and tucks his head under her chin, wondering what to say to that. Sam’s smile fades, and he just brings Becky in tighter to his chest, where Pala knows there are bruised ribs and skin, knows it must hurt to hold her that close.

“Pala saved my life,” Sam says quietly.

“Only after Sam saved mine,” Pala replies, just as soft, wishing her brother would look at her, not surprised when he doesn’t.

“Dean,” says Missouri. “Why don’t you go get those pictures you drew for them real quick, honey? I bet that would make ‘em feel a lot better.”

Pala shifts so she can look at Dean, brushes the fringe of his bangs, and smiles again. “It sure would. Go on, baby, I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly, Dean gets out of her lap, his shoulders slumped as he walks out of the room. Missouri looks from Sam to Pala.

“What happened?” she asks, even though she clearly already knows.

Sam shrugs. “Ask Pala.”

He leaves the room without another word, and Becky looks at Pala with something that is almost like fear.

“Pala, Sam said…” she trails off, voice helpless.

“She…She was grinning,” says Pala. “Like Trisha, when she… And I just- Sam was on the ground choking on nothing, and she was  _ grinning _ , and I lost it-”

“Pala, she was-”

“She was a witch,” Pala tells her firmly. “She would have killed us without a second thought.”

Becky’s voices shakes. “You still had your gun. Sam saw it tucked into your waistband.”

Dean’s footfalls are getting closer, and his thoughts are starting to push at the edges of Pala’s mind, so she speaks quick and low.

“Becky, I didn’t- I just went on instinct. All I could think about was Sam.”

_ And the voice saying killkillkill under my skin. _

Missouri reacts to what she hasn’t said, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips, but she doesn’t say anything. Becky sighs, all conversation coming to a halt as Dean comes back into the room and Pala helps him back into her lap.

“I’ll talk to Sam,” the blonde says at last and leaves the room.

Dean looks up at Pala, innocent curiosity on his round face, and Pala just asks to see the pictures he’s drawn. As he starts showing her the Impala drawn in crayon, carefully crafted renditions of John and Mary, along with several of Pala herself, Pala thinks very clearly,

_ Are you going to tell them? _

She flicks her eyes up quickly to see Missouri shake her head ever so slightly.

_ Are you going to leave? _

“Not yet.”

Dean frowns. “What?”

“Nothing, baby,” lies Pala.

*

It’s a week and a half before Pala can put enough weight on her knee to run again, but it hurts, and after a quarter mile, she slows to a walk. The scratches on her arms have scabbed over, so she’s done away with the gauze, and the scabs catch on the material of her shirt, the sweat making them itch more. It’s getting a little too warm to be wearing long sleeves, but the Mark still needs to be covered, so Pala doesn’t see where she has much choice but to endure. The mornings are just cool enough to be bearable, and if Sam thinks it’s strange that she’s still wearing Dean’s old button-ups, he hasn’t commented on it.

Before too much longer, she reaches the point on the trail where Trisha took her and comes to a stop.

_ how good it felt to wipe a grin off a witch’s face _

Pala sighs and wraps her arms around her middle. She doesn’t like what she’s turning into, but she can’t help but wonder how much of the witch’s murder was the Mark’s influence and how much was just her own hatred. She understands why Dean shot without a second’s hesitation; she also wishes Trisha had suffered the way her family has.

Heavy footsteps sound behind her, and she turns to see Sam come to a stop a few feet from her.

“You’re up early,” she remarks, because she had deliberately come out an hour before they usually do, since he’s been so determined to avoid her.

“I heard you leave,” he tells her, taking in their surroundings. “Figured I might be able to catch up to you.”

“I didn’t make it hard. My knee isn’t really up to running.”

He nods, clearly uncomfortable, and she sighs.

“Sam, I-”

“You saved my life,” he interrupts. “And don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful. I would have done the same for you. You’re my sister, and I love you. But, Pala, the way you…”

Pala can’t look at him, drops her eyes to the ground to avoid the disappointment in his face. A breeze blows by, lifting her hair and passing through the thin cotton of her shirt to touch the Mark. How much longer can she possibly avoid telling him the truth? Especially now?

Will he make her leave? Becky’s pregnant, Dean’s a child, and she is clearly dangerous. Will Sam want her around their family if he knew the truth?

Sam lets out a heavy breath. “I had my eyes open enough to see her face, and I remember what you said about Trisha, how she never stopped smiling… And, that witch… I was gonna die, leave Becky and my kid behind, and the last thing I saw was gonna be her grinning at me, like leaving my son without a father was the funniest joke on the planet, and…”

“Your son?” asks Pala curiously.

“I mean, not for sure, but Becky thinks it’s a boy.” He pauses. “I just- That’s why you- Right?”

_ Oh, Sam _ .

“I couldn’t let her kill you. And I… Sam, I was trapped for so long, sometimes I just wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything but watch, and now… and you were…”

_ I liked the way it felt when she died. _

“You’d tell me if something was wrong,” says Sam.

“What is it that Dean says- No chick flick moments?”

Sam cracks a smile, and Pala feels one of her own lift her cheeks.

“Sam, there’s a lot wrong,” she says slowly. “But, if there was something going on that I couldn’t handle… I would tell you. I promise.”

She sees it when he accepts this, and she relaxes for the first time since that basement six hours away. They’re going to get through this, through all of it, and more importantly, she’s going to make sure she doesn’t lose control again. There’s too much at stake.

“You wanna keep going? I’ll walk with you.”

“Go on ahead, I’m going to head back, see if I can’t find a lead on the genie. I’ll see you back at home.”

She passes by him, looks behind briefly to watch as he picks up his stride and heads off in the opposite direction, then turns her back on Sam and walks away.

*

Either the genie is keeping a low profile, or the local news hasn’t picked up the story yet. Pala rubs her eyes, tired and frustrated, sinking into her bed for a late afternoon nap. Missouri went back to Lawrence a few hours ago, and she kept her promise, never mentioning the Mark to Sam or Becky. While Pala’s relieved, she’s not so sure the psychic made the right call.

If the look Missouri gave her before she left is any indication, Missouri’s not so sure either.

Without opening her eyes, Pala knows she is dreaming. Awake or asleep, she would recognize the feel of the arms around her. Strong and warm, one around her shoulders, one curved around her waist, and she marvels that a dream can feel so real, that even his scent has made it into the unreality.    
  
“Look at me, Baby.”   
  
Green, with soft flecks of brown, a soft smiling curving on his face, and Pala reaches up, rests one hand on his cheek.   
  
“This is a dream.”   
  
He nods. “Yeah, it’s a definitely a dream. But I don’t care if you don’t.”   
  
“Not at all.”

Tears spring to her eyes and spill over. Dean, still smiling, reaches up to wipe them away with his thumb.

“Don’t cry, Baby.”

“I miss you so much,” she says, wanting to bury her face in his chest, but unwilling to look away for even one second.

“I miss you too.”

Dean lifts her hand from his chest and kisses the knuckles, then carefully trails his lips down her bare arm until they brush over the Mark. She sighs softly, circles the nape of his neck with her fingers, and it feels so good to know she doesn’t have to hide the truth from him.

“We are in some kind of trouble, Dean.”

“Aren’t we always?”

She can’t help the soft laugh that escapes her. “You’ve got me there.”

“It’s gonna be okay, Baby. We made it this far, didn’t we?”

“I don’t know how much farther I can go.”

“Far enough,” he tells her.

She shifts closer to him, one leg sliding over his hip, and she can  _ feel _ his need for her press against her. Pala tilts her head back, draws him in closer with the hand on his neck, but Dean turns his head and touches his lips to her hairline.

“Not like this, Pala. Not when it’s not real.”

“Dean, please-”

He pulls away, his expression soft, and he takes her hand away from his neck, lays it on his arm, and she feels a brand, identical to her own, burn against her skin. She gasps in surprise. Dean touches their foreheads together, so close that when he speaks, his mouth almost touches against her own.

“When it’s real, I’ll kiss you so much you’ll get tired of it.”

“That’s not even possible.”

“We’ll see.” Dean bumps his nose against hers. “How do you like little me?”

“I love you no matter what your age. Always have.”

“I love you,” he says. “Wake up, Baby. You’ve got work to do.”


	50. Nine

Dean swings his feet. Pala is sitting next to him, and he is being good and coloring while she reads stuff on her computer. She isn't happy. Dean knows she isn't, but he don't know why, 'cause she won't tell him. He isn't sure he's 'sposed to ask. 

He's tired of coloring. He's not gonna complain though. That's what babies do. That's what Daddy says.  _ Don't complain, Dean. You're not a baby anymore. _ Pala needs him to be good so she can do stuff that will help people. If Dean could read better, he could help too. He wants to. Something is bothering Pala and Sammy, and Becky too. Dean's a big boy. There's gotta be a way for him to help. 

Pala stops looking at the computer and looks at him. 

"Dean, baby, you're very helpful." 

Dean forgot she listens to him. He sighs. 

"No, I'm not," he tells her. "Pictures aren't gonna help you with whatever monster you're trying to find." He thinks for a second. "I bet Dad could help, Pala. Why can't we call him?" 

Pala waits a second, then scoots her chair back and runs her fingers through his hair. 

"Your dad is very busy," she says, real slow and gentle. "Sam and I can handle what we're doing. Do you trust us?" 

He frowns. Why do grown ups always make things what they're not? She smiles at him, but her eyes aren't happy. 

"Okay, Dean. What do you want to do?" 

"I want to help. I want to  _ really _ help." 

She thinks for a minute, and Dean kicks his feet back and forth, looking down at the tops of his shoes. He wishes he were big, like Sammy. He's pretty sure he could make Pala happy if he wasn't little.

"Dean, you make me very happy. Hey, look at me. Dean, please." 

He does, and she doesn't look any happier than she did a few minutes ago. 

"Baby, I'm sorry." 

Why is she apologizing? She hasn't done nothing wrong. Pala laughs quiet. 

"Dean, I'm sorry. You're such a brave boy, and you need to do more than color pictures for me and Sammy. Am I right?" 

Dean nods. 

"Okay. Starting now, we're gonna find ways for you to help. And you know what I need, Dean? I need to have some fun, but I don't really know how. Can you show me?" 

He frowns. That's not what he meant by help. He wants to find what she's looking for. He wants to get big- He wants to grow up fast. Daddy says he is, but Dean wishes he could do it faster. He can't take care of Sammy or Pala when they're so much bigger than him. He knows stuff, but not as much as Dad, and he can't learn on his own.

Pala bites her lip and reaches over, lifts Dean up and pulls him onto her lap; she turns them so they can both see the computer screen. 

"Alright, Dean. How about this- I'll show you some stuff, if you promise we can go play later." 

"What are you gonna show me?" 

She smiles, clicks a few times on the keyboard, makes the picture on the screen disappear, and then something different appears. There's another picture, it's a lamp, and a lot of words.

"Sammy and I are looking for a genie," she tells him, then takes his hand, and presses his finger against the screen. "Has your dad taught you to read yet?" 

"I can kinda read a little bit, but I'm not real good, but I'm gonna get good so I can teach Sammy." 

"You will," she promises. "Let's read this together, okay?" 

Dean turns his head and kisses her cheek. "Okay. You really want to play later?" 

"I really do. Now, come on. Read the words you can."

"The... guh-guh..."

"Genie."

"The genie cuh...oh...mmmm. Oh. Comes. The genie comes fff...rrr from..." 

"Uh. Ray. Bee. In. Arabian," Pala says smoothly, running their fingers beneath the letters, showing him how the sounds work. "You're doing just fine, Dean." 

"Arabian," says Dean. The word is new, but it's not too hard to say. He looks at the next word and smiles. He knows this one. "Folklore." He looks back at the beginning. "The genie comes from Arabian folklore." 

"Very good, baby."

Pala sounds pretty happy for the first time in a long time, and Dean grins. 

"What's folklore, Pala?" 

"It's the stories of a group of people. They get passed down through the years, and usually people end up writing them down at some point." 

"And those stories are about monsters?" 

"A lot of them are, but details get forgotten or people write them down wrong. So, it's up to me and Sammy to find all the different stories and figure out which parts are right." 

"That sounds hard." 

"It can be, but Sam and I are really good. And one day, you'll be just as good as we are. Maybe better, because you're so smart." 

Dean's face gets hot, and he twists so he can look back at Pala. 

"You really think I'm smart?" 

"I know you are. Come on, back to work."

Pala is a good teacher. Dean feels bad for thinking that she's better than Daddy, but she is, 'cause she goes real slow and shows him how to figure out the words, even the real tricky ones. Dean learns a lot about genies. There are a lot of kinds. They don't seem too nice. It's a whole lot of stuff to learn, and most of it can't really be true, 'cause it can't all be real. 

"Hey Pala?" 

"Yeah, baby?" 

"How do you figure out which stories are real?" 

She laughs. "It takes a lot of work. Which ones do you think are real?" 

"The part about the fire, 'cause of the smoke I smelled when I got to that big building when Sammy first got big. And most of 'em say stuff about that." He feels real cold for a second, and he shakes once. Pala pulls him into a tight hug, and he lays his head on her shoulder. "I don't like fire." 

"I know, baby." 

"Do you think a genie took Mom away?" 

"No, Dean. It wasn't a genie." 

"I wish I knew what it was. I miss my mom." 

"I miss her too, Dean. She was a good person." 

Dean stays quiet, because thinking about Mom makes him sad. It makes his tummy hurt, and Dad doesn't like for him to talk about it. 

"Dean, do you want to go play now?" asks Pala. "We can talk about your mom if you want, but sometimes when I'm sad, I like to go outside and run around." 

"Is it bad if I don't want to talk about her right now?" 

Pala stands up, and Dean stands with her and takes her hand. 

"It's not bad at all, Dean. We can talk later or not all. But right now, you promised me we could have some fun, and I think everyone could use some more of that." 

"Does that mean Sammy and Becky can come?" 

Pala looks down at him, and she has a big grin on her face, and it's the first time she's looked really happy in a long time. 

"Of course they can come. In fact, I'm going to insist on it." 

*

Pala watches Dean shriek when Sam catches up to him and lifts him high into the air. Becky laughs beside her, snapping pictures with her phone. 

"The Winchester family photo album just got a hell of a lot weirder," Pala comments 

"It's a shame that they never thought to grab a photo with Mary or John when they time travelled. That would really complete the set." 

Pala laughs, and gods, it feels so good to do that. 

"Yeah, sounds about right." She pauses. "How are you feeling?" 

"The morning sickness sucks, and the extra hormones aren't making...things... any easier. But- I'm happy. Sam's so excited." 

"He's going to be a great dad." 

"He had a great role model." 

Pala looks across the playground of the small park they're in, where that role model is climbing a jungle gym, trying to escape from his younger, yet older, brother. She thinks back to their impromptu reading session from today, the few legends that weren't too graphic and detailed for a small child to read, and remembers a five year old Sam and a nine year old Dean, a comic book spread across their laps in the backseat as Dean slowly taught his brother to read across five states, four schools, and eight hunts. 

Sam had the best role model he could have asked for, and it breaks her heart that Dean will never have a child of his own. 

Becky squeezes Pala's elbow gently in sympathy. Pala tries not to flinch, too aware of the brand that's not even an inch from Becky's thumb. She doesn't want to pull away completely, so instead, she wraps her arms around Becky's shoulders and pulls her in for a hug. This is the most relaxed she's felt since she turned human. 

( _ since the witch's throat was crushed beneath her palms) _

"Pala, come play!" Dean shouts, and Pala smiles, squeezes Becky's shoulder. 

"You too," she tells the blonde. "You can't hide behind the camera forever." 

Together, they join Sam and Dean at the slide, and Becky goes up first, Sam's phone immediately appearing in his hand as she seats herself at the top. 

"Us next?" Dean asks, tugging on Pala's hand. 

"Us next," she assures him, watches as Sam snaps four or five pictures as Becky raises her hands in the air, loose blond hair flying out behind her. 

Dean climbs up first, Pala right behind him, and she settles him between her legs, her boot heels making a heavy sound against the aluminum. Dean giggles, and the sound is infectious. Pala looks down, where Sam and Becky are grinning back up at her and Dean, and she wraps an arm around Dean. 

"Smile at Sam and Becky, baby. They want a picture." 

"Can I have one too?" 

"Of course." 

Dean smiles at his brother, sitting still through a few clicks of Sam's camera phone, but then he turns and looks up at her. 

"Come on, let's go!" 

And Pala eases them forward, one arm wrapped around his middle, and then they're moving, sliding down, wind in their hair, her stomach in a pleasant lift she's never felt before, and she's laughing just as hard as Dean is, from the sheer joy of forward motion. When her feet touch the ground, she takes a second to try to catch her breath, still laughing, and Dean turns around to hug her, begging for another go. Becky and Sam are laughing too, and for the first time in the month she's been back, her entire family is at peace. They're happy, and they're whole, even with the mess they've found themselves in. 

Pala tugs her sleeve down over her wrist and gets to her feet, takes Dean's hand in her own and lets him pull her back to the ladder for another turn. 

*

One. Two.  _ Central mass. _ Four.  _ Groin. _ Six.  _ Between the eyes. _

Pala drops Dean's pistol onto the counter, clenches her fists until her knuckles turn white and protest the strain, drops her head and breathes in deep through her nose. She's been at this for an hour, wasting ammo, trying to relax enough to go back to sleep, to forget the nightmare that jerked her from her bed to the gun range. 

_ Dean, standing across the room, eyes soft and affectionate. "C'mere, Baby," in that low rumble, stubble on his cheeks.  _

Squeezing her eyes shut, she reloads by feel alone, the gun just an extension of herself, but not the weapon she wants, but there's not target for the Blade. Tears track down her face, and she licks her lips, tastes salt.

_ Every step forward bringing him further away, his smile fading with each one.  _

She doesn't look as she raises her arm and fires. One, two, three. Pala swallows against the tightness in her throat, in her chest, breathes deep and feels a sharp pain. 

_ "Baby?" _

Four, five. For the first time, her hand shakes. She reminds herself, pointlessly, that it was a good day. Her family is safe. Happy. There's going to be a new Winchester. Dean is learning to read. Again. 

_ Twin brands burning bright against tender skin, sharp hisses of pain. The Mark on Dean's arm disappearing in hot red light. Stepping forward to comfort him, watching him become engulfed in flames as her own Mark burns brighter, hotter. Screaming. _

Six, seven. Clickclickclickclickclick. Pala lets her arm drop, lays the pistol down, and opens her eyes. Seven perfect shots to the heart. Of course. 

She exhales heavily, runs her fingers roughly through her hair, a few tangles pulling sharply against her scalp. Dreams, nightmares- They don't make sense. They don't mean anything. They're just the subconscious, trying to work through things. 

But, there's a bad taste in her mouth that she can't get rid of, and it frightens her. Pala slides down the wall of the booth, pulls her knees up to her chest and crosses her arms over them, pillows her head in the crook of her elbow, staring at the door, willing Dean, her Dean, to walk in and carry her back to bed. 

She needs him to tell her that the nightmare doesn't mean anything. 

She needs him to tell her that it doesn't mean she's going to destroy him. 

_ Laughing, drunk with power. _


	51. Ten

Pala lays still and awake, staring up at the ceiling, the glow from the alarm clock casting red-tinged shadows. Her breaths are deep and even, and they require concentration, heart still pounding in her chest. She hasn't slept through the night in at least a week. Exhaustion seeps through her, making her eyelids heavy, but Pala doesn't bother to try to go back to sleep. What's waiting in her dreams is more than enough motivation to keep her conscious. 

Beside her, Dean is curled up, one arm wrapped protectively around Mom Bear, his back pressed against Pala's side. She looks over at him, her lips tipping upwards just the slightest amount, a warm rush of affection relaxing her. He's still determined to help, and every day now, they read together. She lets him read news stories or legends with her, working hard to find the genie who changed him. However, they went to the bookstore last week and bought several books that are more appropriate for a child Dean's age- And truthfully, Pala likes them better than the lore. The lore has a lot of blood and death. Dean's books mostly have puppies. 

Almost two months now with no luck, but there's tension at the base of her neck, an anticipation waiting there, and she trusts in that feeling. They're getting closer. Some part of her thinks that they should start thinking about enrolling Dean in school. He should be around children his own age.

Pala hasn't shared that opinion with Becky or Sam, uncertain how they'd react, uncertain how Dean would react, but- 

She sighs. What's the point, that's what she keeps asking herself. What's the point when Dean, her Dean, the man she loves, has already been to school? What's the point when they're trying to change him back? And yet, she still wonders and worries if she's doing right by the little boy sleeping next to her. 

Dean whimpers next to her, interrupting her thoughts, and she lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

"Dean." 

He lets out a soft little moan, chokes out, "Mom." 

"Dean, baby, wake up. You're having a nightmare." 

"Mom," he says, another whimper accompanying the word, and Pala feels her chest tighten with emotion. 

"Come on, Dean. Wake up for me," she says, shaking him just hard enough to rouse him. 

He rolls over and buries his face in her shoulder, and she pulls him closer with one arm, reaching out with the other to turn on the lamp, flooding the room with light. Dean's tears are hot against her skin, and she runs her fingers through his hair, kisses the top of his head as he shakes in her arms. 

"Hey, I'm here. You're safe, Dean." 

"I miss my mom," he tells her, voice high and piteous, and she tucks his head under her chin. 

"I know, baby. I know." 

"I miss my room and my house and my dad, but I miss my mom the most." His voice is soft, and there's guilt in it, guilt too heavy for a child to bear. "I miss her so much, Pala. And I don't want the genie to hurt you the way the monster hurt Mom."

"Oh, baby..." Pala exhales heavily and tightens her hold on him. "No one's going to hurt me." 

"I miss my mom," repeats Dean, and then he sobs, clinging to her shirt and Mom Bear, tiny hands clenched into fists. 

Pala doesn't say anything, simply rubs his back until he cries himself out into her shirt, little hiccoughs replacing his sobs. She closes her eyes against the brightness in the room, the scent of Dean's clean hair filling her nose, waits for his breathing to even out. He's too tense to be asleep yet, so she pulls away just enough so she can look at him, taking in his swollen face and red eyes. 

"I miss your mom too, Dean," says Pala. "But, I promise you, nothing is going to happen to me. I am always going to be here to take care of you." 

"But a monster killed her," insists Dean. "And you go  _ looking _ for monsters, Pala. You and Sammy. And Daddy. What if..." 

"Oh, Dean." His soft, frightened voice is just as painful as a punch to the ribs. "I know that- What I mean is..." 

Dean always was a bright and intuitive child. Lying to him isn't an option, and he's not the type to be satisfied by empty promises. 

"What, Pala?" 

She pulls him back into the circle of her arms, and he snuggles against her, clutching Mom Bear to his chest as he pillows his head on her shoulder. 

"Dean, do you want me and Sammy and Daddy to stop looking for monsters?" 

"Yes." 

She considers this for a few minutes. The Winchester family business is what it is, but there's a second chance for this little boy, and she owes him everything. 

"Dean, Sammy and I have to find this genie, but if we can't- If it doesn't go the way we're hoping- I'll stop. I promise I'll stop. But, I have to do this first. Is that okay?" 

Dean nods. "You promise?" 

"I promise." 

He relaxes at last, whispers his iloveyou, and she whispers it back, reaching behind her to cloak the room in darkness once more. It doesn't take long for Dean to fall back asleep, his dreams seemingly more pleasant from the few glimpses she gets into them. She lays awake, staring at the wall, thinking about the promise she just made and how she'll keep it. 

A soft hiss in the back of her mind, one that has the hint of a laugh asks,  _ What about the monster in the mirror? _

*

Dean's legs are criss-cross applesauce, that's what Mom called it. He is sitting next to Pala. One of his new books is in front of him, but he's looking at Pala's computer and the frown on her face. She looks mad. 

Sammy is across from Pala, and he doesn't look angry, but he doesn't look happy either. Dean's brother shuts his computer. 

"I gotta get some air," says Sammy. "I can't look at this shit anymore." 

"Sammy..." Dean says. "You're not s'posed to say that."

"I'm sorry, Dean." 

Pala looks up, smiles in the way Dean doesn't like, where her eyes are still not happy and her smile looks all wrong. 

"We're out of milk," she says. "And I don't think there's anything for dinner, so if you're up for a store run, there's that." 

"Sounds great. Dean, do you want to come with me?" 

Dean shakes his head. "I want to stay with Pala." 

She turns. "Are you sure, baby?" 

"I'm sure."

She nods. "I'm going to keep at it for a little longer, but then I think I'm going to call it a day too. I've been looking at the same information for weeks- I still can't figure out a way to track it. No one's won the lottery or started dating a supermodel." 

"We'll figure it out, but for now..."

"Yeah," says Pala. "Get out of here." 

Sammy's chair makes a loud sound, and then he is on his feet and leaving the room, and Dean is watching Pala frown again. Dean knows some stuff about genies now, and he can probably help figure it out, if she'll let him. Pala's frown goes away, and she smiles his favorite smile. 

"Where do you think the genie is, Dean?" 

"Wherever there's fire." 

She stares at him. Dean squirms in his seat.

"Genies like fire, right? So, if it's not granting wishes, maybe it's making wishes. Like, when my house burned down, I wished I could have my mom back. And some of my toys." 

Pala gets off her chair and is on her knees next to Dean's chair, pulling him into a hug that crushes him, and Dean hugs back, 'cause he likes to hug Pala. She seems real happy. When she pulls away, she is grinning, and she presses her hands against his cheeks. 

"Dean... That is so smart, baby. You are so, so smart." 

His tummy does a little flip-flop. "Thanks." 

"No, thank  _ you _ , Dean." 

She sits back in her chair, clicking the keys on her computer. Dean remembers their talk. 

"When you find it, you're never gonna go away again, right?" he asks.

Pala looks back at him and takes his hand, squeezes it. 

"I promised, didn't I? Just- Don't tell your brother yet. I have to talk to him, but we haven't had time." 

"I don't want to lie to Sammy." 

Pala is quiet for too long. She bites her lip and nods. "Don't lie to him. I'll- I'll talk to him when he gets home." 

Something is bugging her. Dean wishes he could read her mind the way she can read his.

"Don't worry, Dean," she says. "Everything's going to be okay."

*

**Three Houses Destroyed in Overnight Neighborhood Fire**

"Got you," Pala says under her breath.

She sinks back in her chair, covering her eyes with one hand. She's been working at this for a couple hours, ever since Dean made his observation, and now, they have a solid lead. The article is from two nights ago, but the genie likes to set up shop for a while, so Pala is confident it's still there. They need to leave, and soon, probably late tonight after Dean goes to bed. Sam isn't back from the store yet, and she doesn't bother to text him to ask him to drop everything and head back to the bunker. They have a little time before they have to get moving. 

Pala sighs. She'd like to get in a run, burn off some of this extra energy, but Dean needs a bath and a bedtime story. 

"Hey," says Becky, and Pala looks up. 

"Hey." 

"I just finished up what I was working on, wanted to see if you needed anything before I grab a late dinner." 

"There's leftover tomato soup on the stove," Pala offers. 

"Great. You want some help with anything?" 

"I just found what I was looking for. But- Actually..." Pala glances over at Dean, looks back to Becky, and without thinking asks, "Think you could give Dean his bath? I want to get in a run before it gets too dark." 

It takes her a second too long to realize what she's done wrong. Becky stiffens in the doorway, eyes going wide with fear. The blonde swallows hard, trying to compose herself, but there's a shake in her voice when she speaks. 

"What about Sam? I'm sure he'd do it." 

"Sam's still at the store. Becky..." 

Pala stands up, and her friend takes a step back, hand held out in front of herself protectively. 

"I'm fine, I-" 

"Let me talk to you in the kitchen. Dean, stay here for a minute, okay?" 

"Okay, Pala."

She crosses the room, takes Becky's trembling hand in her own. "Come on, follow me." 

When they're safely out of earshot, Pala lets go and leans against the counter top. 

"Becky, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked- I wasn't- I'm so sorry-" 

"How am I supposed to be a mother?" Becky demands, tears suddenly spilling over onto her cheeks. "How am I supposed to- When the idea of giving Dean a bath- What am I going to do when my baby needs a bath? What am I going to do, Pala?" 

"Oh, Becky..." Pala sighs, takes both Becky's hands in hers, lets them hang between the two of them. "You'll be okay. Sam and I- And Dean, once he's grown again, we'll-" 

"You hunt!" cries Becky. "You have to go, and I stay here, and I'm going to be alone with a baby that I won't be able to take care of! I can't- I can't do this." 

"You're going to be a great mother." 

She sobs, a sharp and angry sound, whole body shaking with emotion now. "I can't be a mom, we should have been more careful, what am I gonna tell Sam-" 

"You don't have to tell him anything," Pala says firmly. "Come here." 

She pulls Becky forward, wraps her arms around the woman, lets her bury her face in shoulder and weep. For the first time, Pala wishes Jimmy was still alive- Just so she could kill him again. Slowly. Very, very slowly. 

It's hard to force that urge down, push away the images of a man screaming as she holds him underwater, but she manages, shifts her focus instead to the woman in her arms. She cradles Becky's head in her palm, holds her tight, waiting for her friend to calm down just enough that she'll actually listen. It takes a few minutes, harsh sobs torn from Becky's throat, and Pala hangs on, a few tears of her own coming to her eyes. 

"Becky... Becky, you are going to do fine. What you went through- It doesn't define you. It doesn't make you weak. You're dealing with it, and you're doing just fine. Everybody gets scared, everybody struggles, but I know you're going to keep going until you beat this." 

Becky steps back, her face red and tear-streaked, and Pala loosens her hold, but doesn't let go.

"You're a Winchester," says Pala. "And you can do this." 

"Technically, I'm still Becky Rosen." 

"You're one of us, you're part of this family, and this family has always been able to do whatever they have to do."

The kitchen is quiet, and Pala stares into Becky's soft green eyes, sees the moment that Becky accepts her words. The blonde nods once and steps back into Pala's space, one last shudder running through her. 

Becky whispers, "I don't know what I'd do without you." 

"I feel the same way," Pala replies, ignoring the twist of guilt in her stomach as the Mark presses against Becky's shoulder. 

*

"When will you be back?" asks Dean.

He's clean and warm in bed next to her, tucked under the covers with her on top. She closes the book they've just finished reading and lays it on the bedside table, pulls him in close with the arm wrapped around him. 

"I'm not sure, baby, but it shouldn't be more than a few days. Maybe a week." 

Dean frowns. "Can't I go with you?" 

"No, baby. It's dangerous." 

"Then I don't want you to go." 

"I'll have Sam there to protect me. And I'll protect him."

In his mind, there's the sudden image of the two of them returning from their last hunt, and Pala ducks her head to kiss the top of his. 

"I promise, Dean, I'm going to come home." 

"And once you find it, you'll never leave again?" 

Pala nods, wraps both her arms around him to squeeze him into a hug. "That's what I promised." 

"Okay." He's quiet for a beat, then, "Pala? I really hope you find it. Cuz I don't want you to go away anymore." 

She closes her eyes, inhales his scent. There won't be many moments like this left if this hunt goes well, and she wants to hold onto them while she can. Once he's an adult again, she's afraid her nightmares will come true.

"I promise, Dean, after this, I'll never go anywhere you can't go too." 

He seems satisfied with this, and he scoots down so he can lay his head on his pillow and pull Mom Bear up against his chest. She smoothes back his hair, whispers goodnight, tells him she loves him, listens as he replies, sleepy, while she turns off the lamp. Her duffel is waiting just outside. 

As the handle clicks, she leans back against the door, utterly exhausted by the last month and a half. Nightmares, something like motherhood, and a Mark that hisses low and frightening in the darkest corners of her mind. 

There are copper bullets in her gun, and she considers putting two between the genie's eyes. At least she can keep him safe if he's still a child. 

She shakes her head, grabs her duffel, and heads to the garage to meet Sam. 


	52. Eleven

They pull into the hotel not long after midnight, in a suburb just south of Omaha. It's quiet here. It should be peaceful, dark sky above and a cool breeze blowing, but Pala is on edge, itching for the fight that's about to come. She drops her duffel on the bed closest to the door, and Sam raises an eyebrow at her. 

"What?" she asks. 

"Nothing. It's just." His laugh is soft and short. "That's the bed Dean always takes." 

"Oh. Well." She glances from her brother to the opposite bed. "Do you want this one?" 

"No, it's fine. Just think it's kind of funny, how alike the two of you are. I didn't really notice the last time you were..." 

Pala smiles, but it feels tight and unnatural. An uncomfortable silence, something too close to grief for comfort, falls between them as they think about Dean. The genie is somewhere outside the door: All they have to do is find it, and the man that a child replaced will be back. Except... 

"Sam... What happens if this doesn't go the way we're hoping?" 

He sits down on his bed, his bag dropping next to feet with a heavy, but muted, sound. 

"You mean, like, if we can't capture it? If it smokes out like it did with me and Dean? That's not going to happen, Pala. We've got copper bullets and chains, and now that we know what it can do, we're more prepared. We won't let it get away this time."

Pala sits next to her duffel on the comforter, picking at a few loose threads along the seam. 

"No, Sam. I mean- What if this doesn't work. What if the genie can't, or won't, turn Dean back? What's the next step?" 

She feels like a jerk for asking when she watches her brother's face drop, the hope that had been there moments before replaced with something far younger and more vulnerable. He looks lost. 

"I don't know," Sam admits. "I hadn't really thought that far. I can't really let myself. I- I need my big brother, Pala. I'm about to have a kid, and I just- I need him to be here to see that."

_ Would it really be so bad if he saw it through a child's eyes? _

"I'm glad you're here, Pala- I don't know how we would have made it through the last month and a half without you."

"You would have been fine, Sam."

"I really wouldn't have."

"Sam..." 

_ Tell him what you promised Dean. Tell him what you're hiding under your shirt. Tell him the truth.  _

"Yeah?" 

She sighs. They're on a hunt, and now is not the time for her to be dropping emotional bombshells. She looks at the clock, finds it's a quarter to one, but she decides she doesn't care. What does she really have to be afraid of? 

"I'm going to go for a run," she says. "I don't think I can sleep if I don't." 

Sam looks surprised, but then he grins. "You know, that actually sounds pretty good. Mind if I join you?" 

As much as Pala wants some alone time, there's not really a polite way to refuse. She changes in the bathroom, the cuffs of Dean's thermal brushing against her knuckles. What would Sam say if she rolled up the sleeves? 

They set an easy pace, but with their height difference, Pala has to push a little harder than Sam to keep up, which suits her purposes just fine. It doesn't take too long to get off the highway and onto the main street in town, the sidewalk barely wide enough for the two of them, their arms brushing. A car passes, headlights unexpectedly bright in the dark, and she blinks a few times to readjust her eyes. The sound of its engine fades quickly, leaving her and Sam in near silence beneath the dim streetlamps, only their rhythmic footfalls against pavement and even breathing between them. 

She tries not to let her mind wander, the simple act of moving forward soothing the current beneath her skin. For a while, it works, and the rest of her life fades away, narrowing to the concrete in front of her and the warmth of her brother by her side. It doesn't last, unfortunately, but this is the most calm she's felt in a while. 

Without slowing, she tells Sam, "You'll make a great father whether or not Dean is a child. And you would have taken care of our family even if I was still trapped in the Impala. I have no doubt, and Dean would tell you the same thing. You don't need us to do the right thing." 

It's as close to a confession as she's willing to get right now. She's trying to warn him, but she's not sure of what exactly, not until he says, 

"Maybe. But, I want the two of you there. I want my brother back." 

That's when Pala knows: Sam isn't going to stop until Dean is cured. But, she made a promise that she has to keep, whether or not Sam wants her to. Her decision is made, and really, there was never another choice for her. 

"I want him back too, Sam," is all she says, because the rest can wait until she knows for sure if she's going to have to run from him. 

For now, she runs with him and hopes that moment never comes.

*

The alarm clock reads out  **7:03** , which means Sam is still snoring softly while Pala is sitting at the table, sipping cautiously at cheap hotel coffee and looking over the notes for the interviews they have for today. Two of the three house fire victims have temporarily relocated, so she and Sam will have to hit up their places of employments. The third fire burned down the house of a woman named Delores, and she's retired, but her tax records indicate that she has a garage apartment that she used to rent. The police report notes that the two story garage was untouched by the fire, so Pala figures that's where Delores is holed up. 

She hasn't delved deep enough into the records, but she's willing to bet that Delores accepted cash for rent on at least a few occasions. Pala files that away for future reference, because hiding from someone like Sam won't be easy, and cash is going to be the only way to make sure she doesn't leave a paper trail. 

_ What am I thinking? I can't leave my family! _

Only, she knows that she can, and she will, if it's the best thing for Dean. 

_ I promised him _ , she reminds herself.  _ I promised him I would stop hunting. I'll have to make Sam understand... _

Pala has known and loved these brothers since they were born, watched them tear the world apart for one another, seen the intensity of their single-minded focus. Sam thinks of himself as the level-headed one, but she knows better. He's just as devoted to Dean as his older brother is to him, and nothing will change that. Nothing will ever convince Sam that Dean doesn't necessarily need to be cured, especially if her dreams aren't just dreams. 

He'll never let her be around Dean if she tells him about those dreams, where his brother is swallowed up by flames and she laughs with the madness of power and taste of blood. 

_ He's my brother, just as much as he's Dean's. He loves me, he'll-  _

_ But you lied to him. You hid the Mark, you're still hiding it. And, what does Sam do to monsters? _

She looks over to where he's sleeping, the snores coming to a stop as he begins to ease into consciousness, and she closes her eyes against the sharp pain in her chest. Sam puts monsters down. And if she's standing between him and his brother, with a Biblical curse burned into her arm, he won't hesitate. It may hurt him, he may not want to, but he'll put her down just as surely as he's put down thousands of other threats in his lifetime. 

_ I'm not a monster. Not yet. I have a choice. _

Dean held on for a long time. His thoughts darkened, and his drinking worsened, but he was still a man. He loved deeply and held on to that love. He didn't give in to the Mark's influence. She can do the same.

But, she is not Dean, and these thoughts do little to comfort her. 

Sam opens his eyes, props himself up on his elbow and reaches for his phone. The clock reads out  **7:15 ** now. 

"I don't remember the last time I slept this late," he says. 

"We don't have anywhere to be just yet. Shower's all yours." 

"How long have you been up?" 

"A while," she admits. "Didn't see a reason to wake you, so I turned off the alarm. Nobody's going to be at work until at least nine, and there's no reason for us to show up as soon as they get there. Thought we could go get breakfast before we get started." 

"Sure, sounds good." 

His hair is a rat's nest, tangled and sticking up in a few places, and the smile on her face is real this time.

"Maybe we could even squeeze in a haircut," she teases. 

Sam rolls his eyes, but runs his fingers through the mess anyway, then stands and crosses the room, lays his hand on her shoulder. 

"You could probably go back to sleep, if you wanted. Like you said, we've got plenty of time." 

_ You would never hurt me. Would you? _

"Nah, I'll be okay. Just ready for this to be over, you know?" 

"Yeah, I get that. Still." 

"Don't worry. I can handle a few interviews." 

Sam nods, squeezes her shoulder, and heads into the bathroom without another word. Pala drops her head into her hands. She doesn't want to make an enemy out of her brother, but if she leaves with Dean, that's exactly what she'll do. 

If she stays, though, she'll have to break her promise to the little boy waiting for her back at the bunker. 

_ Damned if you do, damned if you don't _ . 

She opens her eyes, looks down at her sleeve and sighs. 

_ Already damned, either way. _

* 

The first person on their list, Steven Wright, works in a cubicle, but his boss lets them borrow the conference room to conduct their interview. The man looks tired and uncomfortable, his clothes still stiff with newness, shoulders slumped forward. He answers their questions in a flat voice, never protesting even the more invasive ones, and something about that sets off alarm bells in Pala's head. 

"Mr. Wright, is there anything else?" Glancing down at her notes, she's reminded that his wife was injured and taken to the hospital. "Your wife- Janice. Is she doing any better?" 

He snorts. "Janice is fine." 

"You want to elaborate on that?" asks Sam. 

"She was unconscious when she first got to the hospital, but the doctors got her stable. I sat next to her all night, didn't sleep, didn't talk to any of the cops that came by to ask me about the fire. I told them to come back later, then I told them to fuck off. I didn't care about everything I lost, didn't care about my house. Nothing. All I could think- All I wanted- I just wanted Janice to be okay. That's all. I wanted her to wake up and be healthy and alive." 

"You made a wish," says Pala. 

Wright frowns. "I guess I did. A wish, a prayer. Whatever you want to call it. And I got it. She woke up all of a sudden. After the doctors and nurses did their thing and left us alone- I'm sitting there, telling her how much I love her, how worried I was... And she tells me that the fire and almost dying... It made her realize that life is too short to spend in one place. That she has nothing left here, that she can start completely over, and she's just so happy to get a second chance. She filed for divorce as soon as the hospital discharged her. Called a cab and went straight to the lawyer's office." 

Sam and Pala exchange a look. Dean was right- The genie is creating wishes when it can't find them naturally. 

"Thank you for your time," says Sam. "We'll be in touch." 

Sam exits the room immediately, but Pala stays at the table with Wright. The man has yet to make any type of move to leave. She reaches out, lays her hand over his, and waits for him to meet her gaze. 

"I am so sorry," she tells him. "About your wife. I'm so sorry." 

"Thank you," he says, obviously surprised. For that matter, she's a little surprised with herself. 

"Kilmister? Are you coming?" 

Pala nods, squeezes Wright's hand. "It wasn't your fault," she says quickly. "I'm so sorry." 

She gets to her feet and hurries out the door, ignoring Sam's curious look. Once in the elevator, she avoids Sam's gaze, staring at her reflection in the glass. She knows every single reason she has to bring this thing back alive, why she can't shoot to kill, and yet, she wants to destroy it with her bare hands. 

Quietly, she says, "It's just... wrong. To take someone's deepest desire and use it against them, to twist something beautiful and turn it into something painful." 

Sam doesn't reply right away, and she doesn't bother to look at him. They deal with wrong every day, and this shouldn't bother her any more than anything else does. But this is personal, for her and for him. 

"What's your deepest wish?" he asks. 

The elevator door opens, and Pala steps out, leaving his question unanswered. 

*

Their second interview goes nowhere, and it seems likely that if anyone has made a wish in this family, they're a lot more tight-lipped than Steven Wright. This leaves them with Delores. They park on the street in front of her house, and Pala stares at the charred frame. 

"I wonder if she'll try to rebuild." 

"Guess it'll depend on the insurance," Sam says. "Come on, door to that apartment is around the back." 

The garage is detached from the house, which is the only reason it survived, but the backyard doesn't appear to be as lucky. Broken glass, a several piece of siding and wood, a few scorch marks in the grass and the shrubbery right along the wall: It's a disaster. 

Delores answers the door quickly and lets them in without a fuss. The apartment smells a bit musty, like no one has rented here for a long time. All the windows are open, and Pala guesses that the woman is trying to let the place air out. The couch is old and threadbare, and Pala sinks into it, the cushions giving completely beneath her weight. She hides her grin when Sam sits in an armchair that immediately swallows him. 

"I don't know what I can tell you that I haven't already told the police," says Delores, wisely sitting on the edge of her own seat. 

"Ma'am, we're just here to make sure nothing was missed." 

"I don't think anything was..." 

"Delores," says Pala kindly. "Sometimes even the smallest details can be important. Have you talked to anyone other than the police since the fire?" 

"Just my children- I wanted to let them know I was alright. Oh, and the two of you. I don't really have a lot of friends. You reach a certain age, and most of the people you know are gone. Really, the only friends I have are my flowers." 

"Flowers?" asks Sam. 

"Oh, yes. I mean, I know they can't talk back, but they're good listeners. I've won awards for my garden the last few years. Even made the paper once!" She sighs sadly. "It was in the backyard. Most of them burned and the rest were crushed. I thought about rebuilding the house, but without my flowers here... I just wish-"

"Delores, wait-"

"No!" interrupts Sam.

"-they had survived," the old woman continues without stopping.

Sam looks over at Pala. "Flowers. That can't be so bad, can it?" 

A roar sounds from the backyard, startling all of them when the windows rattle with the sound. Pala struggles to get upand rushes to pull back the curtain, eyes going wide with shock, then narrowing with agitation, at the sight of a fifteen foot tall... Plant monster. There's no other description for it. It resembles a scarecrow, long limbed and slender, with a narrow head, a strange mishmash of colors, green and black, purples and blues and whites and even a few orange petals. 

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," she growls. Pala glances over her shoulder at her brother. "It's bad." 

"Delores," says Sam. "Get in your bathtub, and don't come out." 

"Why?" 

"Because your fucking garden just came to life," Pala hisses. "And it's angry. Get in the damn tub." 

The creature roars again and swings an arm, knocking into what's left of the roof. Pala winces. Pretty sure the insurance won't cover this.

"You just had to ask how bad it could be, didn't you? I don't have any weed killer, Sam!" 

"There's a weed whacker in the shed," Delores says behind them. 

"Where's the shed?" asks Sam. 

"In the back corner of the yard." 

"Go get in the tub," Pala repeats, still looking out the window. To say, she says, "We've got a fifteen foot monster between us and the shed. Not it." 

"I'll get it," he replies, moving for the door. "It's one of the genie's things, right? So, copper should still hurt it." 

"We're about to find out." 

Pala pushes ahead of Sam, bursting into the yard and opening fire immediately. The creature roars again, focusing on her and ignoring Sam as he darts along the edge of the fence. She's not sure if the rounds had any effect on it, other than to draw its attention. Broken glass crunches under her heels, and she curses under her breath, nails from the fallen boards catching on her slacks. 

"I am not dressed for this!" she yells at Sam, not that it's his fault. They were supposed to be doing interviews, not fighting an overgrown lawn. 

She fires off another two shots, moving so that the creature's back is to Sam, forcing it to only see her. It takes a step forward, and she rushes backwards and into the destroyed house, turning her heel, landing hard. Her palm is scraped, but her gun hand still has a hold on Dean's pistol, which is now out of bullets. She reaches into the pocket of her suit jacket, but the spare clip is gone, and she casts her gaze around just as she hears the sound of a chainsaw revving to life.

Sam. 

She scrambles to her feet, casting her gaze about in the wreckage until she spots a gleam of metal among the soot and runs for it. A scream of pain comes from the backyard, not human, and Pala guesses Sam is doing some pretty decent damage to it. She grabs the clib and reloads quickly, but when she goes to turn back, she sees a flash of red. 

It's black, almost blending in with its surroundings, but the eyes stand out, crimson and flaming. It laughs when it sees hers.

"Another satisfied customer," it says, voice like an oil slick. 

Pala doesn't hesitate, aims too fast for the genie to move, and squeezes the trigger. 

One, two. 


	53. Twelve

Dean says, "Why did you do it, Baby?" 

Pala is dreaming, but she answers anyway. "I had to." 

"I thought you loved me. I thought you wanted to save me." 

She swallows hard. "I do. I would never hurt you, Dean. Never. I love you." 

"For how long?" he asks, his shirt catching fire, the flames sweeping across his skin, consuming him. He screams, "For how long!"

*

Pala wakes up with a jerk, a scream of her own lodged in her throat. With a trembling hand, she reaches over and turns on her bedside lamp. Her bedroom comes into view, and she takes a few shaky breaths, then leans over to lay her hand on Dean's back.

"Dean, baby. Wake up." 

By the time she and Sam had made it home, Dean had been out cold, and she had been ready to sleep, so she had simply slid in bed next to him. But with her nightmare fresh in her mind, Pala wants to remind herself of what she's fighting for. 

"Pala?" he murmurs, sleepy sweet, and then rolls over. 

His eyes light up when he sees her, and he throws his arms around her neck. Pala laughs and hugs him tightly, kisses the top of his head. 

"Hey baby. I'm home." 

"Did you get it?" asks Dean, pulling away to stare at her with those impossibly green eyes. "Did you get the genie?" 

"Yeah, Dean. I got it." 

"So, you're done now right? You're gonna stop?" 

"I am," she says. "But, first, I have to talk to your brother. Then, me and Sammy have some things to do. After that- I'll never leave you again." 

He grins, bright and wide, and he touches her face with one small hand. "I missed you." 

"I missed you. Do you know how much I love you?" 

"How much?" 

"More than anything in the whole world. More than ice cream." 

"That's a lot. I love you more than ice cream too," Dean promises solemly, and she laughs at the serious expression on his childlike face. 

"I know, Dean." She gathers him back up in her arms, tension melting away with his warmth. "That's what keeps me going." 

*

Pala manages to go back to sleep for a few more hours, but she wakes up a few minutes past three and doesn't bother trying to close her eyes again. She eases out from beneath the sheets and walks into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Her stomach growls, reminding her that she hasn't eaten since breakfast yesterday morning, so she opens the fridge and pulls out a pound of bacon and a carton of eggs. Suddenly, she's starving, so while the coffee brews, she starts making an incredibly early breakfast. 

Her entire body is sore, one ankle swollen from where it twisted when she fell in her heels, arms and legs and torso scraped up and bruised. Her left elbow landed hard, and it's black and blue and purple, but Pala knows she's lucky it didn't shatter under the impact. All in all, both she and Sam came back relatively unscathed, though she'd spent a good ten minutes picking thorns out of Sam's back with a pair of tweezers. 

The grease pops, bringing Pala back to the present, and she turns the strips in the pan, impatiently waiting for them to finish. She grabs a cup from the cabinet, fills it almost to the brim with coffee and sips at it cautiously, not caring when it burns her tongue. 

"Couldn't sleep either, huh?" 

Pala looks over to the doorway and finds Sam blinking away sleep. 

"Nope. Hope you're hungry."

"I could eat." He crosses the room to stand next to her, presses his back against fridge, and sighs. "Feels good. Where the thorns were, I mean." 

"I figured. Becky okay?"

"She's seen me in worse shape. How's Dean?" 

"He's happy I'm home." She eases the strips of bacon in the pan onto a paper-towel lined plate and drops four more into the skillet. "Sam, I need to talk to you." 

"I need to talk to you too."

Pala watches the grease bubble in the pan, takes another sip of her coffee. She doesn't know what to say. Not that she needs to say anything. If she'd just push her sleeve up, that would start the conversation for her, but that's-

"The genie's knees have already healed up. Great shots, by the way," Sam says. 

"I've been practicing." 

*

The genie chuckles, low and dark, when Pala and Sam step into the dungeon. It lifts its head just enough that the bright red eyes lock gazes with her, its sharp teeth bared into a grin. Pala takes in the blood stains on its pants, the claws that raked across her ribs when she tried to wrap it in copper chain. It blinks once, deliberately. 

"You seem much less... vehicular, than you once were," it says.

"How do you know that?" 

"I can see straight to the soul of every person I meet. The Marked one- You were a piece of his. The great fool." 

"Don't call him that," Pala says angrily. 

It chuckles again. "Genies don't lie. We deal in the... literal. But we don't lie." 

"Look," says Sam, stepping forward. "We have you. You're not getting out of those chains without our help. Insulting my brother isn't your best bet." 

"I'm never getting out of here, boy who would be king," says the genie, and Sam visibly winces at the reminder of his past. "She has no intention of letting me live." 

Pala averts her eyes when Sam looks back at her. 

"I might change my mind," she says. "If you grant my wish. If you turn Dean back." 

"I can't." 

"Why? Will it trap Pala back in the car?" 

"What your brother did to her is permanent. She is just as human as you are." 

Pala lets out a heavy breath, one she hadn't realized she's been holding since that first night that seems like a lifetime ago. While it had felt different when she changed this time, she hadn't been sure. Now, she knows, beyond any doubt, that whatever happens, she's here to stay. 

"So, why not?" demands Sam. 

"Because I am a genie. I only grant the deepest wish of a soul." For the first time, it turns its red eyes on Sam. "Your deepest wish is to have a healthy child, like every expectant parent." 

"My wish is for Dean," says Pala. "I want him here with me." 

"Now, that's not exactly true, is it?" it asks, slowly looking back to her. "Your deepest wish is for Dean to be happy, healthy, and cared for. Which he is- As a child. You've been forming plans to make sure he stays that way, promising the little boy you'll stop looking for monsters. You're going to get as much cash together as you can and run for it, because this one," it says, glancing at Sam for a brief second, "will never stop trying to change that little boy back into his big brother." 

She looks at Sam, his eyes wide with betrayal, hurt displayed on his face, and she bites her lip. Shit. She should have come down here alone, never should have let him come with her. She should have made him leave when the genie said they don't lie-

"Pala?"

"Sam, it's not- It's not like that." 

"Then what is it like?! Like you're going to take half my family and disappear?" 

"No, Sam, please- He's twisting everything, it's-" 

"I wasn't finished," interrupts the genie. 

They both stop speaking and look away from each other. The genie grins again, and a bad feeling grows in Pala's stomach. She opens her mouth to speak, but finds she can't. 

"You're both fools," he tells her. "You and your mate." 

"Why do you keep calling my brother a fool?" 

"He's a fool, because he wished for her. His deepest wish was for a way to bring her back. That's what I gave him. I allowed him to look at things clearly, to see to the simplest truth of the situation. I made his heart pure again, so that any magick he used would also be pure. He should have wished to get the Mark off him, but I threw that in for free." 

"And I'm a fool because?" 

"Because like him, you wish only for your mate- When you should be wishing to be free of Cain's Mark." 

All of the air goes out of Pala. Her eyes fill with tears, and she squeezes them shut, hand automatically covering the brand beneath her shirt. The genie laughs, and the sound goes through her, and before she knows it, she's moving into the devil's trap, eyes open again, and then her hands are clenched in fists, and she's hitting its face as hard as she can, letting go of the tight leash she's kept herself on, flesh splitting under her knuckles, and still, it laughs at her, spitting blood.

Sam grabs her and yanks her back, out of the trap, and he stares at her, then at the sleeve covering her right arm. 

Pala inhales and exhales heavily several times, waiting for Sam to say something, then realizes he's waiting for her to tell him that the genie, which can't lie, isn't telling the truth. 

She doesn't look away from him, tears tracking down her cheeks, and rolls up her sleeve at last, above her elbow, and holds out her arm for him to see the Mark of Cain. 

*

It's still early, a few minutes shy of five in the morning. Becky and Dean are still asleep, and the bunker is quieter than usual.

Which only allows for their argument to sound even louder in Pala's ears. 

"I don't understand how you could keep something like this from me, Pala!" Sam explodes the second the walk out of the dungeon. "I had a right to know!" 

"You did, and I'm sorry, but-" 

"No buts, Pala! And all that crap about taking Dean and going on the run- What the hell is that about?" 

"I hadn't decided anything- I just thought that if the genie wouldn't change him back- I know I can keep him safe if he's a child, and you're so hellbent on changing him-"

"Of course I am! He would want to be an adult again, to be with  _ you _ -" 

"He  _ is _ with me, Sam! So what if he's five? He's safe, he's happy- You heard the genie! The genie can't-" 

"We don't know that! It could be-" 

"Genies can't lie, Sam!" 

"Yeah, but obviously you can," he spits at her, and every bit of guilt she's been feeling gives way to anger. 

"And so can you and your brother," she spits back. "I just thought I was taking a page out of the Winchester playbook. Sorry for following protocol, Sam." 

"You don't get to turn this back on me." 

"And you don't get to run me down for doing exactly what you would have done!" 

"I wouldn't have- Jesus, Becky is pregnant, and I've left you alone with her-" 

"I'm not a fucking demon, Sam! Dean had the Mark for almost a year, he was alone with Becky plenty of times, he never hurt her, he never would have, and neither would I. You  _ know _ that!" 

"I don't know anything about you! I definitely didn't think you would lie to me! What reason could you possibly have had for keeping this from me?" 

"Becky's pregnant! Becky's pregnant, and she has... problems. Dean is a child. This family is hurting, it's  _ been _ hurting, and it was all on you to keep it together. I wanted to tell you. God, I wanted to tell you so many times, but you needed someone to help you, someone you could count on, and I couldn't let you think that I was just another burden. I'm not." 

"What's going on?" 

Becky appears at the end of the room, and both their heads turn at her question. She's in her pajamas, her pink robe hanging open over her grey tank top. Neither speaks, exchanging an angry look, Sam crossing his arms over his chest, and Pala sighs and seats herself on top of the table, suddenly too tired to stand.

"Sam? Pala? Seriously, what's going on? It's five in the morning, what are you fighting about?" 

"Pala's been lying to us. She has the Mark, and she's planning to kidnap Dean." 

"Sam, it's not like that!" 

"I.. What? Sam, what are you talking about?" 

He sighs, looks over at Pala. "Well, tell us what it's like then. Since I have it all wrong. Tell Becky the truth. Tell her that you have the Mark of Cain. That you were planning to take Dean and hide. Explain how I'm wrong about any of this." 

"Pala?" asks Becky, soft and a little scared. "It is true?" 

Pala doesn't know if she can bear to see Becky's expression, but she forces herself to meet her friend's gaze. Becky's hand as shift protectively to her pelvis, and it hurts, knowing that her best friend is afraid of her. She slides off the table and takes a step towards Becky, hands held out in a gesture of peace. The light green eyes flick downward, and Pala knows the second Becky sees the Mark. 

"It's true. It's all true. But, Becky, I would never hurt you. I would never do anything to hurt this family." 

Becky doesn't take a step back, lets Pala come within arm's length of her, hand still held over herself.

"How could you lie to us? How could you want to take Dean away from us?" 

"It's not like that. It's not how it sounds." 

"Then how is it?" asks Sam. "Because, I gotta tell you, Pala, it sounds pretty damn bad." 

"I know. I know that, and I'm sorry. I am, but please- Becky, please," she implores. "I never meant to- I always intended to tell you, when the time was right. And Dean, God, I would never- I just wanted to keep him safe. I wanted to do what was right by him."

"By hiding him from his family?" Becky shakes her head, beginning to cry, and her tears trigger Pala's own. "I don't understand." 

"I... Becky, if the genie won't turn him back... I promised that little boy that I would stop hunting after this. Sam won't ever stop trying to change him, and if Dean is a child-" 

"But, Pala, Dean isn't a little boy. He would want to be with you. Really be with you- Not as your, your  _ son _ , but as... He's already been a child." 

"And what kind of childhood did he have?" Pala exclaims, turning to face Sam, needing him to understand. "He never got to be a kid. He raised you, he raised himself. John turned him into a soldier before he could read. He has a chance at a real life here. Don't you want him to have that?" 

"Pala, he has a real life. He has you," says Sam. 

"He still has me! Please, just- Please understand, I never meant to hurt you. I didn't want to lie. I wanted to protect you, all of you," she says, twisting to face Becky again. "You and your baby. There's so much going on, and I didn't want you to worry about me having the Mark, not with everything else, and I- And now..." 

Becky reaches out, touches Pala's shoulders. "Pala, maybe I can understand why you didn't tell us about the Mark. You're right. It's been a rough year, even before all this. I'm not... I'm doing the best I can, but it's still hard, and now that I'm pregnant... And Dean had the Mark, then turned into a child, and you became human, and... Okay. Okay, fine. You hid the Mark from us. You shouldn't have, but you did. But, how could you want to leave us? We're your family. This is where you belong." 

Pala lets her eyes close for a second, overwhelmed by the effect Becky's words have on her. This is her family, and she doesn't want to leave, but if it's what she has to do, for Dean, to keep her promise... If that is what it takes, there's no other option. 

"Dean wouldn't want to leave," Becky says, and Pala opens her eyes to look into Becky's, and she can't deny the truth she sees reflected there. "Dean would go with you, but it wouldn't be right. You know that. You can't force him to stay a child when he's not." 

"He is a child! And he's safe this way." 

"Safe from what?" 

"From me!" 

"From you? But..." 

Pala sobs, lets Becky pull her into a hug, and buries her face in her friend's shoulder. How can she explain? 

"I watched him dream," Pala says. "I watched him dream, but his nightmares are nothing like mine." She steps back, looks into Becky's eyes. "I'm afraid I'll kill him." 

"Oh, Pala." 

"Becky, Dean doesn't have to come back to this. He has a second chance. He can have a normal life. I can give him that. I love him, and I want him to have that. He can forget about monsters eventually, he doesn't have to grow up knowing that they're real." 

"Pala," Sam says quietly. "He already did." 

"So?" she asks, looking behind her to lock eyes with her brother. "When have the Winchesters ever cared about the natural order of things? I was a car, and now I'm a human! You met your dead grandfather! You've been to Heaven  _ and _ Hell. Why shouldn't Dean get to grow up a second time? Especially when the genie already said that it can't just grant any wish, and our deepest wishes aren't to have Dean back?" 

"Pala, look at me, please," says Becky. When Pala turns back, Becky raises one hand and tucks a stray hair behind her ear. "Maybe it's not your wish. But it might be Dean's." 

"No. No way. I'm not letting him near that thing." 

"I don't know that you really have a choice." 

"What, let him near that thing so it can twist whatever his deepest wish is? What if his wish is to be older and the genie turns him into an old man? What if his wish is to be big and suddenly he's a giant? We don't know, Becky." 

Sam sighs. "She's got us there. But, I know someone who can help with that."

Both women look at him, and he shrugs. 

"It's a genie- It grants wishes. The wisher gets what they want, the genie feeds on the chaos that ensues. Functions a lot like a deal. And who's better at making deals than Crowley?"


	54. Thirteen

Dean wakes up, and Pala is not there. 

He gets out of bed and walks down the hall. She promised she wouldn't leave him, so she has to be here somewhere. She's not in the kitchen, but Dean hears her voice from far away and he goes towards it. Becky is there too, he can hear her, and Sam. Why is everybody awake when he isn't? 

The closer he gets, the more he can hear. 

"You want to call the king of Hell?" That's Pala. She isn't happy. She sounds like Daddy does sometimes. Mad. Real mad. 

"What other options do we have? That genie can't or won't change Dean back without some arm twisting, and you said it yourself- We can't know that it won't try to screw with his wish." 

"We don't know for sure if that's his wish! He's five. He might just want your mom back, Sam." 

Why are they talking about him? Why does Sammy want to call the devil? 

"Yelling isn't going to solve anything," Becky says, even though she's kind of yelling too, probably because Sammy and Pala wouldn't hear her any other way. 

Dean stands behind a wall so they won't see him. Grown ups don't like for little kids to know stuff, and he's pretty sure this is stuff he needs to know. 

"Sam, please," says Pala. She sounds... scared? Like she's begging. "Please, just listen to me. We don't need to do this." 

"Pala, you're my sister, and I love you, but I don't think you're in any position to tell me what needs to be done." 

"I know him better than you do!" 

"Pala..." 

Becky sounds worried, and Dean wraps his arms around his tummy. This doesn't sound very good. 

"He's my brother. Just because you watched us grow up doesn't mean you have more of a.. a claim or something on him than I do." 

Sammy's mad. He's real mad. 

"That's not what I meant! Jesus, if you would just step back for a second and grow up, stop thinking about how much you need your big brother and  _ be _ the big brother-" 

Dean frowns. Sammy is his little brother. If Sammy needs him, he's right here. He'd do anything for him. 

"You're out of your mind. You're so damn scared about dreams, talked yourself into believing-" 

"Oh, because I'm the only one in this family who doesn't like to share and care? Excuse me, I forgot we were the goddamn Bradys." 

"What do you even know about the Bradys, you were a car, you never watch tv-" 

"I may have been a car, but that doesn't mean I don't know who-" 

"Guys, please, we really need to stop yelling and talk about this," says Becky. 

"I'm done talking," says Sam. "I'm calling Crowley, and we're going to-" 

"What? Steal Dean's childhood, just like John did? Last time I checked you were pretty pissed about that for most of your life!" 

"And last time I checked, you didn't think Dad was all that bad! You don't get to have it both ways, Pala. Which is it? Was my dad a son of a bitch, or was he a good man doing the best he could?" 

"You can't have it both ways either!" Pala yells back. "You can't tell me in one breath that Dean would want to be an adult again and then not even bother to find out how he feels! He may be a child, but he's perfectly capable of making decisions! What if he wants to grow up normal, without monsters, without changing schools every three months-" 

"You're only saying that because you're afraid! If you had just talked to me, if you had  _ told _ me from the get-go what was going on-" 

"Sam, Pala,  _ please _ , can't we talk about this-" 

Dean can't take it anymore. He runs into the room and gets between Sammy and Pala. They stare down at him with wide eyes. Pala is crying. Sammy looks angrier than Daddy ever has. 

"Please stop yelling," he says. "Please stop fighting because of me." 

"Dean, no," says Sammy. 

And Pala says, "Baby, we're not fighting because of you."

"Everyone's having a tough morning," Becky tells him. 

"Because of me," says Dean. "I heard you. This is about me. 'Cause I'm little, and Sammy's big. I'm s'posed to be big too, ain't I?" 

Pala gets down on her knees, and he walks up next to her. Dean wipes her tears away, but more come. 

"Dean..."

"Don't lie to him too, Pala." 

Her eyes look mad, and she looks up at Sammy. Dean would hate it if she ever looked at him like that. 

"Stop it, Sam," she says. "I said I'm sorry, and I meant it." When she looks back to Dean, her eyes are sad again. "We're not fighting because of you, baby. We're fighting because of me. I did a bad thing. I lied to Sammy and Becky." 

"You're not s'posed to lie, Pala." 

"I know, baby. It was wrong, and I shouldn't have done it. I just didn't want to worry them, but it was still wrong to lie. I know that."

"But you said you were sorry?" he asks, wanting to make sure. It's important to say sorry when you do something wrong. That's what Mom told him. 

Pala nods. "I did." 

"And you really meaned it?" 

"I did," she says. "I really did." 

"You won't do it again, will you?" 

She shakes her head. "No, baby. I'm done lying. I'm going to tell the truth from now on." 

Sammy makes a sound kinda like a laugh, but not really. "Only because the genie ratted you out." 

Dean turns around and walks over to Sammy and looks up at him. "She said she's sorry, and she meaned it. When someone says they're sorry and they really mean it, you're s'posed to forgive them. That's what Mom said. Dad always said sorry to Mom, and she always told him she loved him and hugged him. You may be big, but you're not bigger than Mom, Sammy. Pala said sorry. Now, what are you gonna do?" 

Sammy sighs and gets down on his knees too so that Dean can look him in the eye. 

"It's not that simple, dude." 

"Yeah, it really is. Do you love Pala?" 

"I... Of course I do. She's family." 

"And she told you she's sorry?" 

"She did." 

"Have you really never done nothing bad, Sammy?" asks Dean. 'Cause he's only five, and he's had to say sorry before, and Sammy's a lot more than five. There's no way Sammy never had to not say he was sorry to someone. 

"I... Dean, it's not..." Sammy stops and looks behind Dean. "Yes, I've done bad things. I've had to say I was sorry. And I wanted that person to forgive me- He always did." 

"Because you really meaned it." 

"Pala," says Sammy. "Pala... Okay. We'll.... Okay. We'll talk about it later. After we deal with this mess." 

"That means you forgive her, right, Sammy?" 

"Yeah, Dean. It means I forgive her." 

"Good." 

Dean turns back around and goes to stand in front of Pala again, who can't seem to smile, but it looks like she's trying to. He takes a deep breath. He doesn't like it when Pala cries. But he needs some answers. 

"Pala, what's going on? Why were you yelling about me? I thought after you found the genie, you were gonna stop, like you promised." 

"Oh, Dean." She sighs. "We need to talk, baby." 

*

Pala tells Dean as much as she can, as much as a child really needs to know, omitting the part about the Mark. She's grateful Sam doesn't try to interject that particular bit of knowledge. In careful words, she explains that he was big like Sammy is now, but that the genie made him little so that he could get her out of the car. They've been looking for the genie so that it can make him big again. She tells him that the genie can only grant someone's most important wish, and that because hers is just for him to be with with her, hers has already come true. Dean takes all of this in, snuggled up in her lap, staring at her with rapt attention. 

"Why does Sammy want to call the devil?" 

"Crowley isn't the devil, baby. He took over Hell when Sammy locked the devil away. Crowley is.... kind of like a salesman. Only a lot more annoying and a lot more dangerous." 

Dean thinks for a second. "Okay. So, why does Sammy want to call an annoying salesman?" 

Becky laughs, and even Sam cracks a smile. 

"Because Crowley is really good at making sure people, and monsters, do what they say they will. Genies like to make wishes go wrong." 

"So, it's wrong that I'm little?" asks Dean. 

"No, Dean. It's not wrong. It's just... not what you really meant when you wished you could get me out of the car."

He lays his head on her shoulder, considering all that he's been told. Pala thinks he's probably still tired. He got up a lot earlier than he usually does, and he's just taken in a lot of information. 

"Dean, you don't have to decide right now." 

"It's not something he decides," says Sam. "It's either his deepest wish, or it isn't." 

"But, he still has a choice," Pala insists. "If he doesn't want to be an adult again, he doesn't have to. Dean, baby, you don't have to make a wish. I'll stop hunting, just like I promised. You can go to school, make friends, do all the things you used to do before your mom died. You'll be safe. I promise." 

"Pala..." Sam warns. 

"We'll stay here," she says, looking up at her brother, not wanting to break the fragile truce that Dean brokered between them. "We won't leave. He can still have all those things here. It has to be his choice, Sam. It's not fair otherwise." 

"It's not fair to make a child choose for a grown man."

In her arms, Dean whimpers. "Please don't fight again." 

"Nobody's fighting," says Becky. Her voice stern, she says to Pala and Sam, "Are they?" 

"Dean. Sammy and I aren't fighting. We just... don't agree. That's all." 

"Are you sure that Crowley can make the genie do what it says it will?" 

Pala bites her lip and looks over at Sam. Crowley is really good at what he does, that's for sure. Red tape is his thing, and if anyone could make this work, it would be him. 

"Pretty sure, Dean." 

He nods, then lets out a tired little sigh. "Pala, I don't know. Can I go back to sleep for a little while?"

"I think that's a great idea," says Becky, getting to her feet and offering Dean her hand. "Come on, I'll read you a story. Your brother and Pala need to talk some more, preferably with their indoor voices." 

Sam makes a face at the rebuke, but wisely doesn't say anything. Dean kisses Pala's cheek and then wriggles off her lap and leaves the room with Becky, too tired to protest. They wait until the footsteps fade away before resuming conversation. 

"Call Crowley," says Pala. "Tell him to come here, but nobody does anything until Dean knows what he wants. If he's old enough to sit here and listen to everything we just told him, he's old enough to make the choice for himself." 

"I don't think he really understands well enough to make an informed decision." 

"He understands everything just fine. You just don't want him to choose to stay little." 

"Look, let's just-" Sam sighs. "I don't want to fight. Not right now. I'm still pissed at you, but there's more important crap going on than you and me." 

"Sam... I really am sorry." 

"Yeah, I know. And fine, I get it. I get why you didn't tell me about the Mark, and Dean is right. I've lied my fair share. But, if I even think you're going to try to take my brother away from me..." 

He doesn't finish his sentence. She isn't sure if it's because he doesn't want to threaten her or because he knows he doesn't have to. Pala doesn't think it matters either way, but she doesn't reply to the unspoken words in the air. 

_ Like you could stop me if I really wanted to. _

*

Crowley looks far too comfortable sitting at the table in the library and far more amused than Pala likes when they explain the entire situation to him. 

"Where is the little tyke?" he asks. "I'd love to have a little chat with him, find out what big bad Dean Winchester was like as a child." 

"Still a better man than you," Pala bites out. 

"Now that just hurts, love, but I suppose under the circumstances, I'll let it go. As I understand it, you need a pretty big favor from me. I'm happy to oblige." 

That's sort of the problem with Crowley. He's always happy to oblige, and the cost is usually too high for any sane person to pay. Problem being, nobody in the Winchester family is exactly the picture of mental clarity, least of all her. 

Because for all her insistence that this be Dean's choice, her sincere belief that he would be better off as a child... She wants this to work. She's willing to sacrifice her own wants for Dean's well-being, and if he decides he'd rather go to school and grow up a second time, she won't let Sam change him back. She'll kill the genie, take Dean and run for it if she has to. 

But, if Dean wants to change back, she knows she doesn't have the strength to try to dissuade him. She misses the man too much. 

Which is what prompts her to force her tone into a reasonable fascimile of civil. 

"What do you want?" she asks. "Nobody's signing over their soul." 

"It's always souls with you Winchesters. Not that souls aren't valuable, of course. Still, there are other commodities that are equally, if not more so, precious to a man in my position." 

"Spit it out, Crowley," says Sam. 

"Easy there, Moose. The grown ups are talking."

"What are you offering?" asks Pala, tired of the demon's accent already. 

"What you need... is a negotiator. Someone who can draft you an ironclad wish that the genie can't manipulate in order to screw you over and leave you in a bigger mess than you're already in. I happen to be the right man for the job. Now, the genie can't lie, but it can twist and bend the truth, which it already has. It  _ can _ grant wishes that aren't one's deepest desires, if that's your greatest wish at the moment. So, in theory, Dean doesn't have to be a part of it. You just concentrate all your little heart, momentarily, on wanting the adult version back, and boom! Squirrel is back to drinking himself to liver failure in no time."

"Plant monster," says Sam. 

Pala nods. "I was thinking the same thing." 

"I'm sure that's a fascinating story, but let's save it for another time, yeah?"

She sighs. "Go on." 

"As I was saying, I'm always glad to do a little business with the Winchesters, and you know, I do love a bargain. No one signs over their soul, Dean's in his thirties by dinner, and everyone goes to bed happy." 

"What's your price then?" 

"I'm glad you asked, darling. Just a little tit for tat, that's all. Favor for a favor. I do this one for you, and at some point down the line, you do one for me. I rather like the idea of the bearer of Cain's Mark owing me something." 

"No way," says Sam. "I'll owe you the favor, leave Pala out of this." 

She's a little amazed by how fiercely protective he sounds, and she feels a little hope that she and Sam may salvage their relationship after all. 

"Thanks, Sam. Really. But, this is between me and Crowley." She appraises the demon in front of her, the deal that's before her. "What if the genie won't cooperate? You can't force it to do anything." 

Crowley grins. "I'm an expert at persuading people to do things they'd otherwise not." 

"Yeah, I just bet you are." Pala sighs, rubs at her eyes with the heels of her hands. She's so tired. She'd really like a solid night of sleep before making this kind of decision. There's no telling what kind of favor Crowley will ask of her later. It could be anything. "I won't kill for you," she says at last, not opening her eyes. "Not a human, anyway. I'm not going to collect puppy chow for your hounds." 

"I find that to be an agreeable term. I'll make sure to put it in the contract."

She doesn't know what the right thing to do is. Dean's mind crowds into hers, and she calls out to him before thinking too hard about it. 

"Hello, Dean," says Crowley. "You're looking well." 

"Are you Crowley?" 

Pala opens her eyes and sits back in her chair, watches Dean stand before the king of Hell without any hint of fear. She smiles, tired and small, but real. 

"I am."

"Pala says you're a salesman." 

"I am."

"She also says you're dangerous." 

The demon chuckles. "I am, indeed. Very dangerous."

Dean thinks about this for a second, then nods. "Are you dangerous enough to scare the genie?" 

"Oh, you just bet I am, Dean. Don't you worry even a little." 

Dean crawls into Pala's lap, takes her hand in his. "Pala, I decided."

"What did you decide, baby?" 

"I want to be big again. I want to be able to help you and Sammy and Becky. And Daddy too, whenever he gets back. If I was big before, then I already went to school and grew up. Right?"

"Right." 

"Then I don't need to do it again, but I need to be big if I'm gonna help you." 

Pala blinks back her tears, pulls him into a hug, tucks his head under her chin. "Okay, baby," she says softly. "If that's what you want, that's what we'll do." 

"How touching," says Crowley. "If all parties are agreed to the terms, then I can start drafting both contracts now." 

"What's it gonna be, Pala? You don't have to do this. I'm sure we could get him to settle for something else." 

She shakes her head. "Draw up the papers, then show me where to sign." 


	55. Fourteen

Even with the decision made, Pala doubts herself. Maybe she should have killed the genie when she had the chance, put two between its eyes instead of in its kneecaps. Maybe she should have grabbed Dean and ran for it, left Sam and Becky behind.

Maybe, just maybe, she should do all of that now, right now, while Sam is distracted with Crowley. Becky's taking a nap. The dungeon is soundproof. She could have Dean and herself packed and in the car, the genie dead, before anyone knew to look for them, get them a few hours of breathing room.

"Pala, are you okay?" asks Dean.

"I'm fine, baby." 

"No, you're not. You said you weren't gonna lie no more." 

She smiles despite herself, sitting with her legs crossed in front of her on the floor, sorting out legos for Dean's newest project. He's building a garage for the yellow house. 

"You're right. I'm worried about everything that's going on today." 

"Are you scared that Crowley can't make the genie turn me big again?" 

That's clearly his fear, and Pala knows, without a single doubt, that this is what Dean wants. It's even what  _ she _ wants, if she's truly honest with herself, but not more than she wants to keep him breathing. 

"Actually, I'm kind of worried that we shouldn't make you big again," she says, because there's no point in lying if he's just going to call her on it. And she's so damn tired of all the lies, of hiding the truth from everyone, especially him. "I think you might be safer if you stayed just the way you are." 

Dean doesn't reply and continues building his garage, but his mind is open to her in a very purposeful way. He's picturing himself as an adult, which is basically John Winchester with green eyes, holding his father's favorite gun, wearing that beat up leather jacket that Dean actually retired years ago. He's tall, taller than Sam is, she notes with some amusement, and strong, stone-faced and unafraid. They're standing side by side, and it isn't difficult to understand the purpose of this little show and tell. 

"Yes, Dean, you're very strong. Strong enough to fight any monster." 

He nods, like it's all been settled, but it's far from it. She's not worried about any monster- She's worried about herself. About the fire in her nightmares and her wild laugh and the sound of his scream ringing in his ears. 

"Dean, do you really want to be big? Or do you want to be big because you think you have to be? Because you don't." 

He sighs, puts down the legos and turns to face her, mirroring her position, his knees touching hers. Dean takes her hands in his small ones and shows her what he doesn't have the vocabulary to tell her outright. 

A little brother that's too big to take care of, and a scared Becky that Dean can't protect. Books he can't read that Sam and Pala are reading, with piles next to them that need to be read, while all he can do is color inside the lines. Pala sneaking out of bed at night and coming back to cry herself to sleep, him thinking he needs to keep pretending to be asleep. Sam and Pala fighting. Becky crying very quietly when she didn't know he was looking.

She sees a nursery school and friends he used to have, Mary picking him up and asking about his day. John watching morning cartoons with him in the old house. Sammy, home from the hospital, tiny pink face staring up from where he lays on Dean's legs. The fire, Sammy crying in Dean's arms. John, silent for days. 

Building a yellow house, happy to be with Pala, but knowing something's wrong. Glad to see Missouri again, because she remembers Mary and what John was like before the fire. Scared to go to sleep with Sam and Pala gone, scared they won't come back. Where's Dad? Why isn't he back yet? 

"I already was little," says Dean. "I'm supposed to be big now, Pala." 

"I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so, so sorry that you- that we, me and Becky and Sam- that..." She doesn't have words to tell him how badly she feels, and for the first time, she wishes Dean could see inside her mind, then remembers that wishing is a dangerous thing to do right now. "We could start over, Dean. No more monsters. No more sneaking out of bed. You can go to school, and when you come home, we'll play and eat so many cookies we won't want dinner." 

He smiles, and she watches it flash through his mind, Pala inexplicably wearing an apron that Mary used to wear, sitting him on the counter to eat cookie dough out of the bowl. But, he shakes his head, and pushes up on his knees to kiss her cheek. 

"Okay, Dean," she says, pulling him into a hug. "Okay." 

*

There's a pulse at her temples as she reads over the contracts- The one between her and Crowley, and the one between her and the genie. _The right thing, the right thing, the right thing._ _For Dean. For Dean, for Dean, for Dean._ Sam's influence is pretty heavy handed in the jargon, and Pala knows that her brother still loves her enough to want to protect her. They're still family, even after everything. The one with the genie draws her up short. 

"We're letting it go?" 

"You can't expect me to pitch certain death and get results," says Crowley. "That's just bad business. Besides, Moose here tells me that our friend in the dungeon has already accepted its death as an inevitability. We have to give it something it doesn't expect. A carrot, if you will." 

"The alternative to death seems harsh enough to make it seem preferable." 

"You'd be surprised. Come now, Pala, this isn't the first time the Winchesters have let a nasty off the hook for the sake of one of their own." 

Sam says, "The contract says we'll let it go, not that we can't track it down and kill it eventually. It gets a headstart, that's all." 

"I would take that gamble," says Crowley helpfully. 

She sighs. This isn't the way she expected this to go, but she signs anyway. Whatever happens next is out of her hands. The genie still might refuse. 

Pala can't decide if she wants that to happen or not. 

"Excellent. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a genie to negotiate with." 

She watches him leave, then turns her head to look at Sam. "You know, I know we don't have a normal life, but this is sort of weird, even for us." 

"A little, but it's probably not the weirdest." 

Getting to her feet, she gives him a wry smile. "Pretty sure I might be the weirdest."

Sam grins. "Top five." 

"Weirder than meeting your mom before you were born, less weird than being Jared Padalecki?" she jokes. 

"Exactly." 

The moment is lightened, and Pala hates to ruin it, but there's not enough time left in the day. 

"Go keep an eye on Crowley. I'll be there before too long." 

"Where are you going?" 

"To say goodbye." 

*

Pala wraps Dean in an oversized towel and scoops him up, his damp hair soaking into her shirt. Her walk down the hallway to their bedroom is slow and methodical. This will be the last time she does this. 

She settles him into bed, not bothering with pajamas since they won't fit in another hour or so, letting him stay in his towel while she tucks him in. He's watching her with curious eyes, asking without words why she's so sad, if he's done something wrong, shows her again the scene in the kitchen with cookie dough and Mary's apron. 

She smiles. "No, baby. You made the right choice for you, and that's all I want. That's the truth. I'm just scared, that's all." A beat, and she answers, "Sometimes, grownups get scared for no reason at all." 

This, more than anything, seems to satisfy him, and she gets into bed next to him, grabs his favorite book and opens it. 

"One more time, Dean?" 

He nods, then carefully takes it from her, pulls her arm around his shoulder and nestles against her side. 

"The Poky Little Puppy," he begins, and tears spring to Pala's eyes as she kisses the top of his head. "Five little puppies dug a hole under the fence and went for a walk in the wide, wide world..."

*

"Pala, how good of you to finally join us." 

"I had some things to do." 

Sam looks at her with a hesitant expression on his face, like he's trying to trust her but isn't sure if he should. She guesses she deserves that.

"Dean took a little longer to fall asleep than he usually does," she says simply. 

"Is everyone still on board?" asks Crowley. 

"Dean and I are, yes. What about it?" 

"You didn't leave me with much choice," it says lazily. 

"There's always a choice," Pala replies mildly, despite the fact that it's right. 

The two options were grant the wish and go free, or go to hell with Crowley to be picked apart slowly until the demon discovered how the genie's magick works. Not that Pala wanted Crowley to have that kind of power, but she rolled the dice, figuring on its self-preservation instinct. 

Even knowing that they've won, Pala feels sick to her stomach. The genie seems to know this, grinning at her from across the room, its face almost healed from the beating she gave it earlier today. 

"I can't grant a wish unless it's made," it says. "Now, tell me... Is this truly what you wish for?" 

Crowley gives a long suffering sigh. "Don't listen to it, Pala. All you have to do is focus, and it has to respect the intent of the wish. No tricks, no twists." 

"Pala..." 

"It's okay, Sam," she says, stepping forward and into the trap. 

She kneels in front of it, lets go of the tight grip on the darkness inside her, and stares into the red eyes in the dark face. She wants it to see the monster she might become one day. Wants it to know that Crowley isn't the only one it has to be afraid of. 

"You're going to bring him back. You're going to leave this Mark on my arm and return him to me in perfect condition, or I'm going to make Crowley's experiments look like the better alternative," she tells it, gentle and slow. "I need him, and he needs me. He doesn't want to live as a child when he's already been a man. I want him back." 

It cocks its head to the side, smiles at her in a way that makes the sick feeling in her gut intensify, but she does not look away. Then, it gives one small, half-nod. 

"Say the magic words," it says. 

Pala says, "I wish." 

Something hot and sharp runs through her chest, and she falls backwards on her heels, throwing a hand out to keep her upright. She gasps, looks down to check that she hasn't been cut open, shocked to find that she hasn't. She rushes to roll her sleeve up, sighing in relief when she finds the Mark still in its place. 

"I kept my side of the deal," says the genie. "I have given you exactly what you wanted. He is free of Cain's curse, and you still bear it, as you wanted. Now, let me out of these chains." 

"Not yet," she says, getting to her feet. 

"Don't trust me, Marked One?" it laughs. "Tell me, who do you trust less- Me, or the woman in the mirror?" 

She doesn't bother to answer- Mainly because she doesn't know. 

*

Dean opens his eyes, because everything hurts, it feels like he's burning, like he's getting cut all over, and it is so bad, he opens his mouth to scream for Pala, but he can't get air, and it  _ hurts _

and then, Dean Winchester takes a deep breath and sits upright in his bed for the first time in almost two years. 

He reaches over, fumbling in the dark for the lamp, knocking over the alarm clock in the process. The light comes on, and his room comes into focus. He runs his hand over the stubble on his face, then blinks several times, adjusting to the sudden brightness, trying to place what's just happened. 

His memories are confusing, difficult to sift through. Sam's too tall in most of them, and Pala is- 

_ Pala _ . 

The genie, he remembers. Five years old and scared, wanting to know where Dad was. This morning feels like it happened thirty years ago, but he can recall it in perfect detail. Fucking genies, twisting wishes and- 

_ Pala. I wished for Pala... _

Castiel. Candles. Singing in the garage, and he lifts his hand to his chest, where Pala's necklace should be, but it's not there. 

He gets out of bed, looks down at himself and goes straight to the dresser, grabs the first pair of sweats his hand lands on, stepping into them at record speed. He has to know right now. He has to know if this was just some weird fever dream or-

The door opens, and he turns. 

"Dean," says Pala, sighing in relief and love and exhaustion. 

" _ Baby _ ," he says and rushes for her, pushing her back into the wall, hands on her shoulders, then her face, fingers tangling in her hair. 

Her hands curl around his wrists, and she takes a shaky breath, eyes wet with tears. 

"Tell me I did the right thing," she begs him. "Tell me this is what you wanted, tell me you didn't want- Dean, tell me I didn't make the wrong wish." 

It takes him a second to catch up, to sift through things that are old but new-  _ You don't have to, you can stay little if you want _ \- and he strokes her cheek with his thumb. 

"There is nothing I could want more than this." 

She runs her hands from his wrists to his elbows, pausing just beneath, and he follows her gaze to where the Mark no longer sits, angry and red, on his skin. 

"How-" 

"Kiss me." 

"Baby," he says, and draws her in, presses his mouth to hers, tastes her coffee and sugar sweetness for the first time in two years, and feels tears escape from his closed eyes. 

Her arms go around his neck, pulling him tight against her, hips to hips and chest to chest, and he moans, low and deep, needs more, licks her bottom lip and presses his tongue to hers, swallows her whimper down with her taste. He breaks their kiss, runs his lips over her cheeks, her chin, her forehead, her eyes. Dean touches their foreheads together and breathes with her, revels in the feel of her soft curves against his body, her warmth against his skin, but he wants to look, needs to see her, needs to know this is real. 

"You're not dreaming," she says, lips brushing his when she speaks. "This is all real. Please just kiss me." 

"Did you..." 

"I can hear you now, yes, and Dean, please-" 

He trails his lips down her neck, unbuttoning her shirt and easing it off her shoulders, breaking the hold around his neck. He hisses when he sees the cuts and scrapes across her chest, follows the angry lines of cuts-  _ had to be glass _ \- down her arms, then stops, his entire body going perfectly still. 

" _ Baby, no, _ " he breathes.

The Mark of Cain. 

"Dean, it's... When I turned... The Mark can't be destroyed, and a child can't carry it. We're soul mates, and when..." Her voice shakes. "It's been hard. So hard, and I don't know how you carried it as long as you did." 

"I had you," he says, absolute horror making his chest ache. "I had you there to remind me who I really belonged to."

"It'll be better now, then," she tells him. "Easier. Missouri thinks that it's been so hard, because I'm not starting from- Because our souls are bound together, and you had it for so long... And I've been so scared, Dean, not knowing what I should do, and the Blade- It's hidden under the bed, away from Sam, which I probably need to tell him about, but it's been kind of a busy day-" 

"Baby, breathe." 

He touches their foreheads together again, presses them against each other, bodies still fitting perfectly. Dean waits for her breathing to slow a little, thumbing the brand on her arm, regret pouring through him, because he never wanted this for her. 

"I know you didn't, and if this is what it took... To be here, like this... So be it." 

He nods, bumps his nose against hers, then pulls back enough so he can look in her eyes, still the exact shade of the Impala's steel. 

"It's okay, Baby. Just- You'll pass it back to me, like Cain did-" 

"What? No. No way, Dean." She shakes her head. "There's no chance of that. I watched what it did to you before, I saw how... And now that I've... I wouldn't put this on anyone, especially not the person I love the most." 

"Pala, no. This is my curse. I chose it, I accepted it. How can you ask me to-" 

"I'm not asking you," says Pala. "I'm telling you. It's my curse now, Dean. You were strong enough to carry it, and so am I." 

"Don't do this, Baby. You don't know- If you think it's bad now, it's only going to get worse, and I can't do that to you, I can't let you..."

But, he's been beat, and he knows it, from the tears on her cheeks and the steel in her eyes. Dean can't take the Mark from her, and she won't give it to him any more than he would have passed it to her. It wouldn't have mattered how much she begged or screamed or cried; he would have suffered far worse than he already was to spare her. And somehow, she loves him every bit as fiercely as he loves her. 

He takes in the dark circles under her eyes, the beginnings of frown lines that weren't there two years ago, and the exhaustion in the set of her shoulders. He would give anything to take this burden back from her. 

"What did the Rudy hobbit say?" she asks with a sly smile, and he can't help himself, he smiles back. 

"I can carry you," he promises. 


	56. Epilogue

Becky was right. She and Sam are having a boy. 

Dean whoops when she gives them the news, Sam beaming next to her, and he jumps to his feet to pull his sister into a hug and then clap his baby brother on the shoulder. Pala smiles and hugs Becky today, offers her collection of children's books and says they need to pick out a room for the nursery. She's a little more shy about her approach to Sam, but he simply pulls her in for a hug that crushes her against his chest, until they're both laughing with absolute joy.

"What are you gonna name the little guy?" Dean asks. "John's a good name for a boy." 

Becky smiles. "Robert," she tells him. "Robert Dean. What do you think?" 

Dean stares at Sam, shocked, and Pala slides an arm around his waist and squeezes his hip. 

"I think it's a wonderful name." 

Weeks go by, and the Winchesters hole up in the bunker, licking their wounds in private, letting time heal the rift between Sam and Pala. Dean doesn't comment, because unlike his brother, he understands the desperation that comes with the Mark. 

Truth be told, he would have done the same thing. Actually, more likely, he would have killed the genie and ran for it. Pala's a lot more level headed than he is. 

She wakes up with nightmares more often than she doesn't, and he finds her crying in their booth at the gun range more than once, coaxing her into his arms and back to bed. It takes a while, but eventually, they get to where she can sleep through the night a few times a week, but the dark circles under her eyes stay. He promises her she'll never hurt him, that he knows it's not in her, that the Mark can't make her something she isn't. Dean finds himself strangely glad that she can hear his thoughts now, because she can see exactly how deeply he believes everything he says to her. 

He has missed her more than even he knew, barely able to spend an hour away from her at first. They've avoided taking any cases for the time being, not officially, but anything they find, Becky passes on to other hunters. They all need a break from what's really out there in the dark. 

Dean's carries two tumblers of whiskey and coke down the hall. Pala's not much of a drinker, and it's been two days since she's had a full night of sleep. He wants her to be able to relax at least a little bit before they turn out the light and try to get some rest. He finds her on his side of the bed, bedside table drawer open, and a smile on her face. She's heard him coming long before she heard his footsteps, and she's already facing him, a small box in one hand. Dean places the glasses on by the lamp and sits down next to her. 

"I didn't know you had these," she says. 

"Dad kept Mom's on a keychain. Never took his off, not until... I ended up with both of them at the hospital, and I couldn't just..." He looks down at the battered gold rings in the box, the only things left of his parents'. 

"Your mother loved your father so much," says Pala, picking up John's ring, locking gazes with Dean as she does. "Almost as much as I love you." 

"Is that a fact?" he asks with a smile. 

She nods, takes his left hand and slips his father's ring onto the third finger. "It is." 

_ Are you... _

She nods again. 

Dean reaches into the box and pulls out the remaining ring, his mother's, and takes Pala's left hand in his. 

"Dad never quit on her," says Dean. "And I'm never gonna quit on you." 

The gold band slips onto Pala's finger without any resistance, a perfect fit, and she laces the fingers of their left hands together, rings pressed hard against each other. 

"This really enough for you?" he asks. "Don't wanna go to Vegas or something, do it right?" 

"What could be more right than this?" she replies and leans forward to kiss him softly on his lips. 

As Dean wraps his arm around Pala and lays her down, he thinks his wife makes an excellent point, loves the way she giggles when she hears what he hasn't said.

**The End**


	57. Spades

It’s a good day in the bunker. Pala’s not suffering with the Mark too badly, Becky’s in a good mood, and the boys have no place to be. Someone, probably Becks, let’s be honest, suggests they play Spades. Pala’s in instantly, because that’s her best friend, and Sam’s in, because that’s the mother of his child, and as Pala goes, so goes Dean’s nation. 

They’re going to play partners, so it’s couple verses couple, right? Dean and Pala vs Sam and Becky. Everything’s going all well and good; they’re all talking shit and laughing together. Dean and Pala win the first game, then the second one. Sam starts to get competitive. Dean and Pala win the third game. They’re halfway through the fourth one when Sam exclaims, 

“You’re cheating! You can hear his thoughts!” 

Dean bursts out laughing, and Pala does too, gut-busting, tears-on-the-cheeks laughter. 

“Thought you were supposed to be the smart brother,” Pala teases. 

“Only took him three and a half games,” says Dean. 

Sam looks furious, and Becky just shakes her head, this expression on her face like “we should have expected this” and it only takes Sam about a minute to calm down, because he doesn’t remember the last time Pala or Dean laughed like this, so he starts laughing too, with the joy of it, the whole family here and alive (and human) and playing cards, which is so normal it’s ridiculous. 

They redeal and switch teams. Boys against the girls. Becky and Pala win the first game, then the second. Dean throws down his cards in frustration. 

“It’s no use, man. I can’t keep her out of my head.” Then, he smiles fondly at his wife. “Wouldn’t want to, truth be told.” 

Pala smiles back at him, eyes soft. 


	58. Into the Shallows

**Into the Shallows** **  
** ** _a love story of loose ends and fears to be faced_ **

_ Becky lost a good friend and nearly lost her life because a man died on her watch. It’s time to tie up loose ends. Will Becky face her fears, or will she drown? _

* * *

**Prologue**

Becky grows round and heavy, her ankles swell, and her feet disappear beneath her belly. Sam keeps his hands on her more than he doesn't, palm over her belly button or at the small of her back, kneads the tension in her back and shoulders. Her writing slows and becomes furious with no discernible pattern. She rides highs and lows, and if one more person at the store says anything about how she's glowing, she swears she'll set Pala on them. She will. Late pregnancy is not beautiful or miraculous. It's awkward and exhausting and, okay, maybe it's a little beautiful, because there's a child inside her that she and Sam created. A tiny miracle, a new Winchester boy, and Becky is willing to concede that point, but she's serious about the glowing. She's sick of hearing about it.

Her water breaks in the middle of the night, and she curls into herself at the sharp pain. Her legs are slick and wet, and she can't decide what's worse, the panic or the agony. 

"Sam," she breathes, high and pitiful, and he's awake a second later. 

"Becky, what- Oh. Babe, hold on, just a second-" 

"Sam, I can't- I need- Dry, need-" 

"I know. I know, Becks, I'm right here, I'm here." 

And he is, he puts his hand on her shoulder, and he never stops touching her for even one second of the next fourteen hours of their lives. Later, she'll marvel over how he managed to get her up, get her dry so she could calm down, and maneuver their entire family into the car without ever stepping away from her. She clings to him as Robert Dean Winchester is born and screams his first breath. Her baby boy is perfect and red and angry, and Sam finally takes his hands off of her to cradle their son in his arms. She cries looking at them, her two boys, her entire heart in front of her. 

Pala and Dean are enamored with their nephew, and Becky sees her best friend transform in front of her, all smiles and tenderness, the tightness around the steel eyes easing for the first time in almost a year, Mark of Cain hidden by Robert's tiny foot. Dean hugs Sam tight, then rushes off to get Becky coffee and overpriced pastries from Starbucks when she mentions that's what she wants in passing. She spends three days in the hospital, sore and aching and exhausted, but happier than she ever imagined she could be.

Robert gets his first bath a couple days after they get home from the hospital. Her hands shake and her heart pounds, vision blurred by her tears, and she is so grateful for Sam's steady hold on their slippery son and his calm voice over the rush of the water. Everything is wet and loud and overwhelming, and even with Sam beside her, it's hard to breathe, hard to do this simple thing for her child. Becky makes it through this first time and every time after; she keeps thinking it will get easier. It doesn't, but she eventually manages to bathe Robert by herself, even if she does burst into tears after she gets him settled in his crib. 

Time goes by, marked in diaper changes and breast feeding, the switch to formula and the addition of baby food that makes Dean wrinkle his nose in disgust. Sam goes on the first hunt since Robert was born, and Becky is a nervous wreck alone in the bunker, hates letting her family go. Pala's rage only seems to ease around Robert, much like when Dean was a child, and not for the first time, Becky laments that Pala will never have her own child. Every hunt they come back from, Pala looks almost hungry, laughing about the danger and violence with bared teeth, softening completely as soon as Robert comes into her line of sight. Becky isn't sure how to feel, but she isn't afraid of her friend- Only for her. 

At six months old, Robert's first tooth comes in. Everyone loses sleep as he cries, takes their turn trying to soothe him, and it's Dean who is the least frustrated, Dean who chuckles "Sammy used to scream louder'n you, little man, try harder," and Dean who shows Becky how to soothe her son. Between the four of them, the littlest Winchester is going to turn out just fine. 

It amazes her, how she manages to slip into motherhood, holding her son with one arm, turning the pages of a lore book with the other. A baby monitor sitting next to her cup of coffee while she writes, changing his clothes while she takes a phone call from one hunter or another and answers questions about the best way to hunt a werewolf. 

She is completely enamored with Robert and her life and her family, and still, every time she hears running water, her heart stops and she is cold and drenched and bound, the taste of salt, tequila, lime choking her. 


	59. One

Becky knows Sam is beyond exhausted when the sound of Robert's cry through the monitor doesn't wake him. It's a little after five, and in theory, he'll be up soon to go for his morning run with Pala. Part of her wants to shut the alarm off to let him sleep in, pretty secure in her assumption that the reason she got a solid six hours of rest is because her boyfriend was up with the baby for most of the night. She smiles fondly at him, then shrugs into her robe and hurries into the nursery next door, scooping her son up in her arms and shushing him as she carries him down the hall to the kitchen. 

Breastfeeding had only lasted a month and a half before they made the switch to formula; she tries not to let it make her feel like a failure, tries even harder to not be bothered by filling the bottle with water. Robert has quieted in her hold, looking up at her trustfully, and that's where she keeps most of her focus, reminding herself that there is no reason to be afraid, here in her home. It works, not as well as she would like, but well enough that she's once more able to heat up a bottle for her child. 

It's still early enough that she doesn't feel the pressing need to start work, supernatural or otherwise, so she eases herself into the rocker in the library (a gift from Dean and Pala) and enjoys the quiet, the silence only broken by the soft sounds of Robert nursing. He's beautiful, Sam's dark eyes and her blond hair. She wonders if his hair will darken when he gets older or if he'll keep this part of her. His chubby fist is curled around one of her fingers, and he is warm and a perfect weight against her. 

She hums softly, no song in particular, pulling melodies from several that she likes. Becky isn't much of a singer, and every lullaby she's ever heard has somewhat macabre undertones; Robert seems to like her half-mumbled half-hummed versions of pop songs, which is good enough for her. Even after he's finished with his bottle and soundly asleep against her breast, she continues, rocking them back and forth, tired enough to sleep, but too enraptured with the tiny boy in her arms to go back to back to bed. 

"You're up early." 

Becky jerks a little in her chair, and Robert's eyes flutter open for a second, then drop closed as he wriggles in her arms and goes back to sleep. She looks up and finds Pala smiling apologetically down at her. 

"I didn't mean to scare you." 

"You didn't scare me," Becky says. "I just didn't hear you come in, that's all." 

"You have something better to focus on," says Pala fondly.

"What time is it?" 

"Right at six. Sam's alarm has been going off for five minutes. I'm going to guess he's not coming with me today?" 

Becky eases herself up from the rocking chair, strokes Robert's cheek with her thumb. 

"I think this guy kept him up pretty late. You mind putting him back to bed? I'll go shut the alarm off, see if he wants to go with you." 

"Don't wake him," says Pala, cuddling the baby to her chest, a gentle smile on her face. "Dad had a long night. I don't think he went to bed until after two."

"How do you know?" 

"Because that's about the time I was leaving the gun range. I heard him in the nursery when I walked past." 

Pala says this casually, not even looking at Becky as she does, already walking away and toward's Robert's room. Becky breathes deeply, watches the woman holding her son with such tenderness, and knows that the Mark has made that woman a perfect killer. 

"You doing okay?" Becky asks, taking a few quick steps to catch up. 

"As well as I can. Dean helps, but..." She looks up from Robert's face to Becky's. "It's been over a year, and I don't want him to feel responsible for me. You know?" 

Becky thinks to all her joint showers with Sam since their first one, thinks about every bath she's given Robert on her own that feel never ending, and how doing the dishes can make her flinch. 

"Yeah," she says. "Believe me, I know." 

Pala's smile is sad and understanding as she steps into Robert's nursery. 

*

The continuing adventures of gay firefighters are still making good money, but it starts getting a little dull after a while, so Becky switches to one of her other series. She spends the rest of the morning listening to Robert breathe and move in his sleep through the monitor and writing about cowboys.

Around ten, she hears Sam enter the nursery, and she smiles to herself as he talks to Robert, takes a short break to listen to him.

"Morning, little man." 

There's some rustling and a muttered curse. Becky chuckles, glad she didn't have to change this particular diaper. 

"Dammit, kid- Alright, you know what? Let's just get you into the tub. That way Mommy doesn't have to do it, okay?" 

Becky closes her eyes and swallows hard. Sam takes good care of her, watches out for her, but there's no reason he should have to worry so much about something as simple as bath time. And yet, she hasn't taken a shower by herself in years. 

She takes a sip of her coffee and tries to go back to work, the monitor silent now, but it's hard to focus on romance when she's been slapped in the face with her own reality. Sighing, she saves her progress and opens a browser. 

It's the usual frustration trying to find actual cases. There's what she thinks is a serial killer in Maine, but she flags it just in case, emailing the articles to Janine to get her opinion. There's what  _ has _ to be a chupacabra in New Mexico, and Louisiana has another voodoo practitioner getting out of control. Becky is making notes of who she knows is where, hopeful that she can keep her family at home for a little longer. She doesn't like staying behind, but there's no place for her and Robert on a hunt- There's never been a place for her before, for that matter. Her job is here; it doesn't mean she always likes being alone in such a large place. There are parts of the bunker she still hasn't explored. 

**Animal Attack Claims Another Drowning Victim**

Becky has to wonder at what point the words "animal attack" became synonymous with "probably a monster." She sighs and clicks on the link, heart stopping at the name of the town. Cyan Springs, Florida. She's heard of this town before. 

"No," says Becky softly. "No, it can't..." 

The news story reads like the ones she read years ago, and by the time she finishes, her entire body is trembling with nerves. Bodies found in the swamp, decomposing and half-eaten, similar to an alligator attack, but the bite pattern is wrong. Local wildlife experts are baffled. The sheriff urges people to exercise caution. 

She shakes her head, tears rolling down her cheeks. When she reaches for her coffee cup, she knocks it over and it shatters on the ground, but she doesn't move from her spot, staring in horror at her computer screen. 

"No," she says again. "No, Carpenter died for this, it can't..." 

Sam's footsteps are loud, but she barely hears them, blood rushing in her ears as she thinks back to that her friend's final case, the last conversation she had with him, to Jimmy's angry insistence that it was her fault Carpenter died on this hunt. 

_ Salt, tequila, lime. _

_ Get on the table. _

_ Cloth, water, choke. _

"It can't be. It can't-" 

"Becky! Babe, talk to me. What can't? What's wrong?" 

Sam's hands are tight on her arms, turning her away from the table to face him head on, the chair's legs shrieking against the floor. Becky jolts back to the present moment, looks at the open fear of Sam's face, his eyes wide with concern, and she reaches out to him, lays her hands on his shoulders, anchoring herself to the here and now. She takes a few slow breaths, swallows down her fading panic.

She says, "It's back." 

"What's back, Becky?" asks Sam, calmer now that she's speaking to him. 

"Do you remember what I told you about Carpenter? The man Jimmy... The reason Jimmy wanted to kill me?"

Sam frowns as he nods. "Somewhere in Florida, right? Some kind of creature drowning people- He went in before you could figure out what it was." 

"Yes. It's back." 

"You said he got it. The deaths stopped after his." 

"They started again," she says, glances over at his screen. "I just found- It's the fourth one in five weeks. Same town, same kind of attacks- Fuck, it's probably the same reporter. Sam- Sam, whatever it is that killed Carpenter- It's back." 

*

Sam can see the fear in her eyes, but more worrisome than that is the resolve he can see forming there. Robert starts to cry, crackling across the baby monitor, and Sam finds himself glad for the brief distraction. 

“Becks- Go take care of Robert. I'll read the article and see what else I can find, okay?”

Like he knew it would, that snaps Becky out of it. She's a great mother, her own comforts and distress always second to Robert's needs, and she gets up from her seat and leaves the room without a word. Sam slides into her chair, not happy with what he finds on the screen, wishes that anyone but his girlfriend had found this. He trusts her skills enough to believe her without doing further research, but he looks all the same, looking through the online archives of the news site, stopping when he finds Carpenter's death. That's the last mention of animal attack until five weeks ago. Since then, there have been four, and it's obvious that it's the same thing. 

Sam wants to believe this isn't their kind of thing, that this is something the locals can deal with, but it's so obviously not. 

Becky enters the room, shushing Robert with that sweet voice she always uses with him, and Sam listens carefully, hears the way his son's cries quiet into little hiccoughs, his girlfriend murmuring too softly to make out her words. Not two minutes later, she's standing in front of him, Robert's head on her shoulder, propped upright in the crook of her elbow, her hand patting his back. Sam smiles at the sight, despite the situation at hand, because he loves his small family more than words can say. She looks worried, but manages to smile back at him, though it's tired and scared. 

"Well?" she asks. 

"Well, you're right," Sam replies. "Like always." 

"What are we going to do?" 

He frowns. "Pala and Dean are out right now, but when they get back-" 

"No, Sam. I mean me and you. I can't sit this one out, not when- I can't just wait here for you to come back. Carpenter... He didn't make it out, Sam, and you can't expect me to- You cannot make me stay here. You can't. I can't, not knowing that I've already lost one person to this thing. I'll go crazy, worrying about you- And Pala and Dean- My whole  _ family _ , Sam. No. No, it's not even-" 

"Hey. Hey, Becky, look at me." 

She's getting worked up, frightened and agitated all at once, and she glares at his attempt to calm her down. 

" _ Don't _ . I know I'm not a hunter, and I know I'm not cut out for this, but I can't- I  _ won't _ let you go without me." 

"Okay," he says easily, relieved even, raising his hands in surrender, getting to his feet to step in front of her. He lays one hand on her shoulder, covers the hand she has on Robert with his own. "We won't go. That's easy enough. We'll call someone, pass this job on-" 

"What?  _ No _ . This is mine, Sam. This is my mess, and it's my responsibility to clean up." 

Sam look at her, at the determined set to her face, and he knows there is no way he will win this argument. She wants to go. 

_ "He told me I never get my hands dirty." _

"Becky, is this about Jimmy? About what he said when he..." Sam swallows, because he doesn't like thinking about it anymore than she does. 

Becky narrows her eyes. "This is about me getting my friend killed, Sam." 

"Becky, you didn't-" 

"Sam, if it were you, if it were your friend- How would you feel about it? If our places were reversed?"

He doesn't answer, because anything he would tell her would be a lie. There is no way he's admitting to the truth and helping her make her case. 

"Becky..." 

"Sam. You'd see it as your fault, and you would go after it." 

"That's different, I'm..." He sighs. "Becky, you made the decision not to hunt. And with Robert... We can't bring a baby onto a hunt." 

"Your dad did it with you." 

Sam takes a step back, shocked at what she's said, and regret flashes on her face a second later.

"Sam, I'm so sorry- I'm... No, we shouldn't take Robert. We shouldn't. But, that doesn't mean I can't go. Please. I'm sorry, I just- I can't stay behind. Not on this one. It's too personal. Please." 

He's still reeling, but when she moves closer to him, her hip brushing against his, he doesn't pull away. There's a desperation in her voice that does him in, and if she's bringing his father up as justification, she already knows she's on the losing side. Becky is stubborn, he knows this better than anyone, watched her grit her teeth through fourteen hours of labor and years of post-traumatic stress. When this woman wants something, she goes after it with everything she has. 

Sam palms the curve of her waist and drops a kiss to her forehead, lingers there for a second, then dips his head to capture her lips with his. She relaxes into it, pulls away to lay against his shoulder, and he tucks her head beneath his chin, arms wrapped around his girlfriend and child, considering his options. She's determined to come, and he knows that. 

Problem is, whether she likes it or not, he's not letting her anywhere near Cyan Springs.


	60. Two

"I have to tell you, Sam," says Pala, staring at him over the trunk of the car, "I think it's really pretty awful of you to have us sneak out in the middle of the night like this. Becky deserves better." 

Sam looks over to Dean, whose standing outside the driver's door, and his brother just shakes his head. Clearly, he's on his own. Pala has already made her dissatisfaction clear, but she just won't let it go, deliberately not being quiet while packing and heading out to the garage. Somehow, both Robert and Becky managed to sleep through her thinly concealed tantrum. Pala may be the most dangerous person on earth right now, given the Mark on her arm, but she's, well, she's being a bratty sister right now, the way Sam sees it. 

Not that he'll be mentioning that outloud. 

"So you've said." 

"If she did this to you-" 

"Becky wouldn't do this," Sam interrupts, then winces, because that doesn't help him at all. Pala's victorious look is proof of that. "But that's not the point." 

"It really is, Sam. Becky wouldn't do this to us, and we shouldn't do it to her." 

"Then don't go," he bites back. "No one is forcing you.' 

Dean warns, "Sam..." 

"No, it's okay, Dean. Really. I want to hear him try to tell me how it's a good idea for me to sit this one out." 

Sam clenches his teeth together to keep himself from saying a bunch of things he shouldn't. Like how maybe his sister shouldn't go, because killing may keep her healthy- they'd learned the hard way that if Pala isn't actively and regularly violent, she winds up with a fever high enough to cause brain damage- but it's not really helping with her sanity. Like how Becky shouldn't be left alone with Robert, because they all know she doesn't like to be by herself in the bunker. Like how it would be better if they just passed this one on, but his girlfriend is never going to let  _ that _ happen, so the best they can hope for is that she'll drop the idea of going if they're already gone. 

Pala grins, but it's not her old one. It's predatory, sharp with triumph, all teeth and no heart, and it makes Sam sick to his stomach.

He says, knowing it will cause a fight, "I don't think I have to tell you it's a good idea. You already know." 

Dean moves fast enough to grab her elbow before she can step forward, her body coiled tight with anger. She turns into Dean, presses the lines of their bodies against each other, and Sam watches as she fights for control over her rage, leaning heavily against her husband, his brother, as Sam stares her down. Finally, she shakes her head. 

"Fuck you, Sam," she hisses. "Don't make this about me and the Mark. You're the one sneaking out in the dark to avoid a fight with your girlfriend. I'm doing my goddamn job." 

She pushes past Dean and gets into the driver's seat, cranks up the engine and turns the music up loud. Dean sighs, looks after her with a worried expression,then turns his gaze back to Sam. 

"Why do you have to rile her up like that? She's doing a great job, man. You don't know what it's like, having the Mark, and she has a point. It isn't right, running out on Becky like this." 

"Then why are you going?" 

"Because, as my wife pointed out, it's our job. Beyond that, if she doesn't... Look, I'm not letting her die because her brain melts with a fever doctors can't do shit about. I can't lose her again, especially not when we can prevent it. But you- You don't have to go. Stay here, with your girl and your kid. What's stopping you?" 

The question draws him up short, and he looks at the garage door, thinking of his family that's behind it. Dean and Pala are more than capable of handling this one on their own, and Sam knows that, but just like Becky couldn't let it go, neither can he. 

"She almost died because of this thing," says Sam. "I gotta see it through.' 

Dean shakes his head. It's the same motion he's been making for years whenever Sam decides to do something he thinks is stupid but is going to support him on regardless. 

"I get it, man. I do. If it were Pala... I know you wanna keep her safe. So, let's get out of here before we all die from carbon monoxide poisoning. Alright?" Dean crosses around to the front of the car and opens the door. "And it's probably best if you ride in the back for now." 

Yeah, no kidding. 

It takes Dean thirty miles before he gets Pala smiling again, then another forty before she'll acknowledge Sam's presence in the backseat. It's a little past midnight, and the highways are clear, long stretches where it's just the Impala's headlights illuminating the asphalt. Sam watches the miles go by, wishing he had stayed at home, knowing he didn't do the right thing. It's too late to turn back, even if he wanted to, and he doesn't. Becky's going to be pissed, and he knows that, but he doesn't want her near this thing. 

He just wants to get this hunt over and done with. For all he cares, Becky can scream at him for days when he gets back. He deserves that, but with the knowledge that she's safe in their bed, he can't bring himself to care. 

*

Becky doesn't think much of it when Sam isn't in bed during the night. He gets like this right before he leaves on the hunt, up and down at all hours, researching their monster of the week. She still has all her old notes from the first time around, but even working together, they haven't managed to narrow the list down. She's too tired to check in on her boyfriend, half asleep as she feeds Robert and puts him back in his crib, sliding back beneath her comforter without a second thought about where Sam is, secure in the knowledge that he's either in the library or war room, trying to figure out what's drowning people in the swamp of Cyan Springs. 

That security is gone come eight in the morning, when Sam should have been back from his run over an hour ago but isn't. She hasn't seen Dean yet, and she starts to get concerned, so she texts Pala as she searches the bunker. 

**Where are you? Are you guys walking back or something? **

Robert wakes up, and Becky carries him down the hallways as she searches the usual places for her family- Gun range, library, Dean and Pala's room. She checks the garage, finds the Impala's parking space empty, and she takes a deep breath, wills herself not to jump to conclusions. Her phone buzzes in her pocket. 

**Ask your boyfriend. And please know- This wasn't my idea.**

So, maybe she's not jumping to conclusions so much as she's naturally finding her way to them, but she still can't quite believe Sam would do this to her. 

**Who's driving right now?**

Not Sam- Not the father of her child, not the man who held her hand and coaxed her into every shower for the last two years. He wouldn't just leave her behind when she specifically told him not to, when she said that she couldn't stay this time. 

**Sam is. I'm so sorry.**

And like that, Becky goes from trusting and disbelieving to absolutely pissed. She turns around and leaves the garage, rushing into the bunker to place Robert in his swing. He smiles up at her, brown eyes sweet and exactly like his father's, and she sighs. Winchesters. Those boys know what they're doing from  _ birth _ , she swears. 

Sam answers on the third ring. 

"Becky, I know-" 

"Oh, no, I don't think you do," she says. "And I think you had better shut up, Sam, before you dig yourself any deeper." 

"Becks, I'm sorry, but-" 

"Don't. Don't you dare. I  _ told _ you, Sam. I told you I couldn't just sit here and wait. And what do you decide to do? You run off in the middle of the night, leave me behind with our son, completely disregard my feelings-" 

"Can we maybe talk about this when I'm not in the car with two other people?" 

"What, you mean like when you're at home like you're supposed to be right now? No, Sam. You gave up that right when you  _ snuck out on me. _ " 

"Fine, but, Becky- Did you really expect me to let you-" 

"Let me?" she yells. "You're not my fucking keeper, Sam. You're supposed to be my partner. You don't get to tell me what I can and cannot do, and you damn sure don't get to make decisions for me." 

"That's not what I was trying to do, Becks," he says, voice soft and pleading. "I want you to be safe. I want you to be okay, and I don't think coming on this hunt is a good idea for you." 

"It wasn't your choice to make." 

"I know that, and I'm sorry-" 

"No. You're not. Because you don't regret it. You'd do it again, and you think you did the right thing." Suddenly, she isn't interested in continuing this conversation, but she asks, "Where are you?" 

"About an hour out of Little Rock. We'll be in Florida early tomorrow afternoon. Going to stop and get a hotel somewhere in Tennesse tonight. Do you want me to call you when we get there?" 

"I'm pretty sure Pala or Dean can do that."

"Becky, don't be like that." 

"Like what, Sam? Like you just pulled a total dick move on the mother of your child? Like my boyfriend didn't just ditch me like my prom date did?"

"I did not- It isn't like that, goddammit!" He's getting irritated now, and good, let him. "I just want you to be safe, and when it comes to this, you're too close- You weren't going to let it go, and you didn't want to pass it on to someone else. I figured this was the only way you'd drop it."

"You're absolutely crazy if you think I'm going to drop this just because I'm not there with you." 

"Well, so long as you're safe, I don't really care." 

She hangs up, can't stand to listen to one more second of anything he has to say. She's absolutely furious with him. 

Becky turns around, looks at Robert and sinks down into a chair, watches him stare up at his mobile with a contented expression. 

"Your father," she says, "can be a real dick sometimes. A well-meaning dick, but a dick." 

Robert looks over at the sound of her voice, and she can't help but laugh when he claps his hands for no apparent reason. 

Why should she go? She has a beautiful baby here, and there's nothing waiting for her in Florida that she really wants. 

_ "I know you'll figure out what it is, Rose, you always do." _

Becky closes her eyes against the sudden memory, balling her hands into fists, nails biting into her palms. This was her case before it was Sam's. Hunting may be the Winchester family business, but this monster is unfinished business for her. She has to see it through. If Sam can't understand that- If he can't see that she isn't just Robert's mother or his girlfriend, that is too damn bad. She may not be a hunter, but he's not the only one with a fucking job to do, not the only with scores to settle and people lost to the life. 

Carpenter died, Jimmy killed himself, and she almost lost her life on her kitchen table. All because of what she couldn't find.

She opens her laptop to search for plane tickets, says a quiet prayer, and waits for the sound of wings. 


	61. Three

Given that she didn't want to explain her reading choices to security, Becky checked a bag with several lore books (and what appears to be a dissertation by a Man of Letters) folded neatly inside her clothes. She's not surprised Sam left these behind, no matter how valuable they will be during the research process. Both Winchesters favor books with more generalized subject matter so they can travel light. The brothers still pack as though everything they own has to fit into the car, a lifelong habit of not having a home to go back to. 

With her research materials in her suitcase, she doesn't have much to do. She pays for the in-flight Wi-Fi and rereads each news story twice, hoping to glean some information from articles she already has mostly memorized. Unsurprisingly, nothing new leaps out of her to inexplicably solve the case thousands of miles in the air. 

She ends up ordering herself a drink to calm her nerves and surfing the web for more mundane things. Part of her thinks she should use this time to write with no distractions, but she's so used to having Robert with her that it feels strange not to be listening for him. 

Castiel had agreed to stay with her son with no hesitation, which wasn't surprising. The angel has been enamored with the newest Winchester since he was born, and more than once Becky's woken up in the middle of the night to find him in the nursery, keeping silent watch over her baby. She had expected him to ask more questions as she rattled off everything he could ever possibly need to know about taking care of Robert, but he had simply taken in all the information she gave him, accepted the printed list with a sincere thanks and then offered to call her a cab. 

"Don't you want to know where I'm going and why?" 

"Wherever you're going, I know you have your reasons. You wouldn't leave Robert Dean behind if you did not. Am I correct?"

She had launched herself at him and pulled him into a tight hug, startling him, but he recovered quickly and wrapped his arms around her. 

"I do not know what is going on," Castiel said, "but I know you are a good mother. I will take care of him." 

"Thank you, Castiel. And one more thing- If Sam calls... Don't tell him about this. He'll find out soon enough." 

The blue eyes had gone wide, but the angel simply nodded in agreement, and Becky had driven off to the airport, parked her car in long term parking and gotten on a plane for Florida. Eventually, she closes her laptop and stares out the window at the clouds, imagining the fight that awaits her on the ground. 

Becky doses off at some point, dreams of a shattered bottle of tequila and Carpenter's rough drawl, wakes up gasping for air. A concerned flight attendant asks her kindly if she would like another drink. Becky does, downing half of it in one swallow. The man sitting next to her raises an eyebrow but does not comment. 

The plane touches down, and as soon as it's allowed, she turns her phone on and sends a fast text to Pala, her voicemail notification blinking at her.

_"Hey, it's me. Why is your phone off? Look- I know you're mad, and I'm sorry- Babe, please try to- Anyway, we just made it to our hotel. Call me whenever you get this. I love you, Becks." _

It's been a long time since Becky flew anywhere. The Winchesters prefer the open road for both business and far too rare vacations, but it all comes back to her. The stop and start walk off the plane, the awkward waiting at baggage claim. Her phone buzzes. 

**Name of the hotel is McFlynn's Lodge.**

Becky asks for the room number, doesn't bother to put her cell back in her pocket. She knows she has Pala's attention for the time being and it won't take long to get a response. Shifting impatiently from foot to foot, her laptop bag over her shoulder, she stares at the conveyor belt, willing her luggage to emerge so she can get over to the rental car desk. It's an hour's drive from the airport to Cyan Springs. 

**115\. Why? Planning to send a clown for Sam? Please give me a heads up. I'll take pictures for you.**

She laughs despite her irritation with the entire situation. Baggage claim is right next to the exit, which means she's already sweating in the Florida heat, even though she's still indoors. 

**I'm not sending a clown. I doubt he'll want pictures of this.**

Less than a minute later, a new message pops up on her screen. 

**You're here, aren't you?**

The conveyor starts to move and suitcases start snaking their way down to the carousel. One eye on the bags, Becky taps out a reply. Her floral patterned suitcase, battered but still durable, even after years of abuse, finally appears. As soon as she gets her hand on it, she gets one last text from Pala. 

**Secret's safe with me. Can't promise I won't take pictures, though.**

*

The Cyan Springs police department has laughable security, and it's the work of twenty minutes to hack into their system and download all the information they have on what they're calling animal attacks. Next, he heads over the game warden's files and starts reading through them. Dean's on one of the beds, tracking dirt all over the comforter because he hasn't taken his boots off yet, drinking a beer with one hand, frowning at the book in his other. 

Pala is on the couch, her feet propped up on the coffee table, a smug smile on her face. Sam doesn't know what is it that has her looking like that, but he's just glad they're not fighting anymore. 

There's a knock, and Sam looks up at the door suspiciously. It's too late for housekeeping, and no one knows they're here. 

"I'll get it," says Pala cheerily, rising to her feet and crossing the carpet, her pistol still on the table, and before Sam can process the implications of that, he's looking at his girlfriend, standing in the doorway. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asks, out of his chair in a second. 

Dean is up and next to Pala before the door is fully closed, a hand on her arm, and she just grins at him and pulls Becky into a hug. 

"How was the flight?" 

"It was fine," says Becky, her eyes focused on Sam. 

He can't believe she came here. 

"Where's the little guy?" asks Dean. 

"Castiel's babysitting." 

"You left our son with Cas? Are you kidding me?" 

"He's an angel, and they're in a bunker that technically doesn't exist. What could be safer?" 

Dean and Pala exchange a look. Sam's brother clears his throat and reaches for the door handle. 

"We have something to do. Away." 

Becky crosses her arms across her chest and waits for them to leave before she speaks. 

"Not going to kiss me hello?" 

"What were you thinking, Becky? Coming here? After I-" 

"Ran off in the middle of the night on me? That's a great question, Sam. What were _ you _ thinking?" 

"I was _ thinking _ that you weren't going to let it go, and look how right I was!"

"You shouldn't have left me, Sam. You shouldn't have, and you know it." 

She's got him there. Sam doesn't know what to say to that, because it's absolutely true. He has his reasons for why he left, and he stands by them, but it doesn't make it right. 

Becky nods. "See? You know you were wrong, and you did it anyway. This is my case, Sam. This is my past, it was my friend that died, it was me who almost died-" 

"And that's exactly why I don't want you here, Becky! This is too personal for you, you're not going to look at it objectively-" 

"Your father made a career out of a personal vendetta," she snaps back. "And then you and your brother picked up where he left off and saw it through. You've had tons of cases that you were too close to, not that it ever stopped you. That's sort of what this family _ does _, isn't it?" 

"You're not a Winchester!"

Becky takes a step back, her mouth open, just as shocked as if he'd slapped her. He didn't mean to say it, didn't mean it the way he knows she's taken it, and he rushes forward, wants to take it back, wants to kiss her and apologize and talk about this calmly, like they've always done. But, she's stepping back, grabbing her suitcase and reaching for the door. 

"No, I'm not," she says, voice terse, sharp with hurt. "So, I'll just go get my own room so I don't intrude on my own family." 

"Becky, that's not-" 

"I think you've said enough, Sam. Don't you?"

"Becky, wait." 

She doesn't, and Sam doesn't blame her. He sighs, sinks down onto the coffee table, elbows on his knees as he buries his face in his hands. He didn't mean it- Doesn't know why he said it, except that that's twice in two days she's brought up his dad, and John Winchester is not the model he would use for justification for any action. Ever. He loved his father, loves him still, but it's a touchy subject, even more than a decade later. 

Since they've been together, he's never had trouble talking to Becky. They've had a few fights here and there, not like this though. He's never yelled at her before, never put that hurt look on her soft features until now. This has gone way too far. He might have been wrong about taking off, but he's not wrong about everything. This is dangerous, and she's not a hunter. He thinks about the scars that cut across her belly from her first and only hunt, about the stretch marks that now run alongside them from where she gave him a son. 

Sam couldn't bear to lose her. 

He digs his cell phone out of his pocket, hovers over her name and then scrolls past. She wouldn't answer now, and he doesn't blame her. 

The phone rings twice.

"Hello, Sam." 

"Hey, Cas. So, uh- Becky said you're watching Robert?" 

"I am. He's sleeping right now. We're in his nursery, and I expect he will be awake again in another twenty minutes." 

Sam smiles at how matter-of-fact his friend is. "Thanks, man. You didn't have to. Kind of wish you had told her no, actually." 

"It's not in my nature to refuse one of the Winchesters."

Sam winces at the reminder of the conversation he's just had with his girlfriend, forces himself to laugh. 

"Yeah, I guess that's true. Uh, he doing okay?" 

"He's doing fine, Sam. I'm always happy to spend time with Robert Dean. Becky seemed very anxious about leaving him behind. It must have been important." 

He looks over at his stack of research, the coroner's report up on his computer screen. He remembers Becky curling into herself as she told him about Carpenter's death, the guilt in the set of her shoulders, and the way she wept when the news about Jimmy's suicide reached them. 

"Sam? It is important, isn't it?" 

"Yeah, man," says Sam. "It's very important, especially to Becky. Thanks again. Give my boy a hug for me, alright?" 


	62. Four

Becky tears through her suitcase, yanking out the three large books she packed, her clothes falling onto the comforter. She leaves them where they land, tosses the volumes on top of the table, satisfied by the solid sound they make upon impact, then yanks her laptop out. 

_ "You're not a Winchester!" _

It hurts, mostly because it's true. She never thought it mattered that they weren't married; she assumed her place in the Winchester family was solid, regardless of her last name. Yet, now she has an unhappy reminder that, officially, she is still little Becky Rosen. Her best friend, boyfriend, and son are all Winchesters- She's the odd man out in the bunker she calls home. 

Fine. So she's not a Winchester. She had a life before Sam, and this case was hers before it came to their attention. Carpenter was her friend, not theirs, and she's going to see this one through, whether they like it or not. She's just as capable as the three of them, and if she absolutely has to, she'll go trudging around through that damn swamp by herself. 

Becky swallows hard at that thought, hates the reminder of her own limitations. She can't even shower by herself, how exactly is she going to make her way through the wetlands alone? 

She'll deal with the particulars later. For now, she has to deal with what's right in front of her, and that's three books on monsters, coroner reports, and a creature killing the citizens of Cyan Springs. She doesn't need to go anywhere need its hunting grounds until she knows what she's dealing with. 

_ One thing at a time _ , she reminds herself. 

Settling down at the table, Becky opens the book closest to her, an index of monsters separated by state and region. She's pretty sure Sam forgot this one even exists, and she flips the pages until she comes to Florida, then begins to read. 

The first hint of relaxation is starting to kick in when there's a knock at the door. Becky sighs, and without looking up, calls out, 

"Go away, Sam!" 

"I'm not Sam," Dean says. "Can I come in?" 

Surprised, she gets up and crosses the room, opening the door with a hand on her hip. She raises an eyebrow at him. He smiles at her, lifts up a bag that's obviously from a gas station. 

"I brought beer. When's the last time you really got to drink?" 

"Dean..." 

"I also bought that non-dairy creamer you get, in case you want coffee instead." 

She laughs. "Come on in." 

"So, what's it gonna be?" Dean asks, stepping across the threshold, shutting the door with his foot. "Beer or coffee?" 

"Beer. Definitely beer." 

"That's the sister I know and love." 

"Haven't you heard?" asks Becky, taking and opening the beer he offers. "I'm not a Winchester, so I'm not your sister."

Dean frowns. "Sam actually say that to you?" 

She nods. 

"He's not always right. This is one of those times." He shakes his head, takes a long swallow of beer, then sits down at the table. "He didn't mean it, Becky. He has this tendency to talk out of his ass when he's backed into a corner."

"Sam doesn't like to lose," she agrees, dropping back into her chair. "But, he was pre-law at Stanford. He knows how to argue." 

"Not when it comes to you," says Dean. "I don't think he's ever won an argument against you. Becky, he doesn't think where you're concerned. It's all instinct. He wants to protect you at all costs, even if it means he's being a total jackass. And believe me, we all know he's being a jackass right now, him included." 

"This is your idea of defending him?" 

"He's my brother. Doesn't mean I can't tell the truth. He didn't mean to hurt you, Becky. Sam knows he fucked up, but he can't admit it, because his goal was to keep you safe. The ends justify the means for him, even if it means you're pissed and Pala wants to knock him into next week." 

"Is that where she is?" 

"God, I hope not," Dean laughs. "Things are already tense between those two. She just left to go running, try to burn off some of the extra energy. There's a park not too far from here with a track, so I figure that's where I'll head in another hour." 

Becky takes a sip of her beer, considers what Dean's said. She asks, 

"Do you think I'm a Winchester?" 

"Hell yes. Since the moment you gave me my Baby's voice back." 

"Then why does-" 

"Nope. Sam didn't mean what he said. I can't tell you why he said it, other than he's pissed off and wasn't thinking. I can tell you that all my brother wants is for you to come out of this alive. He lost you once, for about a minute there. Losing the woman you love- It changes you. A desperation takes up shop in you where you used to have good sense. Even if you only lose her for a second, it's too long."

Dean takes a drink of his beer, then sets it down, and reaches over to lay a hand on Becky's arm. She sighs. 

"Then how do you hunt with Pala?" 

"Have you met my wife?" 

"Dean." 

He sighs. "It's who she is. It's what she does. What  _ we _ do. And it terrifies me, because I don't think I could lose her again. Not even for a second." 

Before Becky can form a reply, her phone rings. 

**Castiel calling.**

She answers immediately, puts it on speaker so Dean can listen too. She called Castiel while standing in line to get her rental car, and he said everything was fine, Robert had just gone down for a nap.

"Is everything okay?" she asks in a rush, worried and berating herself for rushing off to the south. Nothing is more important than her son; why did she think she needed-

"Robert Dean will wake from his nap soon," Castiel says calmly. "Everything is alright, Becky. There is no need for you to worry." 

She lets out a sigh of relief, and Dean smiles at her gently and squeezes her arm. 

"Hey, Cas," he says. "How's the little guy doing?" 

"Hello, Dean. He's doing fine. We were discussing the fallacies of anthropomorphic flatware when he fell asleep. I have no need of rest, so I have been keeping watch." 

"Cas, you don't have to spend every second next to him," Becky says. "You can watch Netflix or read a book or something."

"What's Netflix?" 

Dean replies, "I think a better question is what's anthropomorphic flatware." 

"There's an amusing children's poem about a dish and a spoon entering a romantic relationship and escaping together. I was explaining to Robert Dean that this is impossible, because both dishes and spoons, along with all other flatware, are inanimate." 

Becky laughs. Her son is in safe hands.

"Cas," she says. "There's a tablet in my bedroom. Turn it on, find the redsquare that says Netflix and find something to watch. It'll pass the time." 

"Time will pass regardless." 

"Can't argue with that," says Dean.

"Sam called me. He seems concerned, but assured me that the reasons you left were important. I was surprised the two of you didn't call together." 

"We, uh- We're working the case from different angles," says Becky. 

"That seems advantageous. I will leave you to it, and I will send you a picture of Robert Dean."

"Thanks." 

"You're welcome, Becky." 

She ends the call and looks at Dean, who smiles at her over his beer. 

"Different rooms, different angles. Same thing." 

"Shut up," she replies. 

Dean grabs one of her books and pulls it to him, opening it to a random page and blanching at the illustration. She smiles at the expression of disgust on his face. 

"There's an index in that one," she says helpfully. 

"Indexes are only helpful when you know what you're looking for," he says, but flips to the end of the book anyway. 

Becky's phone buzzes with a text, and she opens it quickly, heart cleanching tightly at the sight of her baby boy, sleeping peacefully in his crib. She misses him so much, and it makes her ache for his father. No one else on the planet could possibly understand how perfect Robert is and how badly she wishes she could hold him right now. 

It's rare that she and Sam fight, and most are resolved quickly, but they've never had a fight exactly like this one. Arguments over her car while she was pregnant, over Pala's condition and deception, and a few over how much they both work. In all their time together, neither of them has ever pulled a stunt like Sam has now. 

They've never gone behind each other's backs before. 

Dean glances up from his book. "Think about what I said, Becky," he says gently and returns to the text in front of him. 

_ Even for just one second _ , she thinks.  _ What if I lost Sam for just one second? _

*

Sam's phone goes off with a text from Becky. 

**Room 107.**

He's on his feet a second later, rushing out the door and down the sidewalk. He knocks impatiently, takes a step back when it's his brother who opens the door. 

"Dean, what are you-" 

"I'm leaving," he replies and brushes past Sam with a solid clap to his shoulder. 

Becky stands as Sam enters the room and shuts the door behind him, clicking the locks into place from long habit. There's a beat of awkwardness, and then he crosses the room in long strides to pull her into his arms, exhalling with heavy relief when she hugs him just as tight, burying her face into his chest, grabbing two fistfuls of his shirt. Sam inhales the scent of her hair deeply, kisses the top of her head. 

"Becky, I'm so-" 

"I love you," she interrupts. "I love you so much, even if you are acting like a jackass." 

"I love you," he says, pulling back to look at her. 

A second later, she's pushing up on her tiptoes to kiss him, lips soft, tongue pressing forward to his, beer and whiskey and sugary sweet, and sure, maybe they need to talk, but it can wait, God, can it  _ ever _ wait. 

Sam turns them and walks her backwards, tips them onto the bed, fingers tangling in her hair, then traveling down her neck, lips following their trail down her torso. He yanks her shirt up, exposes her stomach as she threads her hands into his hair, raising up to meet his mouth, and he licks the scars from the Wendigo, the petals of her tattoo, then kisses the stretchmarks that cut across her belly. He knows she hates them; she's complained about them plenty, but Sam loves them, loves what they represent. Her skin is soft beneath his lips and tongue and fingers, and he pushes her shirt up higher until she removes it herself, hands slipping behind her back to unclasp her bra. 

He lays open mouthed kisses on her breasts, sucking on one nipple and then the other, tongue laving over the hardened peaks, driving his hips into the mattress as she grinds her center up against his stomach, seeking friction and relief. His shirts are dragged over his head by her needy and insistent hands, and then he's traveling back down her body, tugging off her jeans and panties, kissing her hips and sliding a finger into her slick heat, fumbling with his belt buckle one-handed. 

"Sam," she breathes. 

"Becks. Want you so bad." 

She moans as he adds a second finger, hips raising, and his cock twitches in his pants as he struggles to get out of them, watching her move against his hand. She tightens up on his fingers and he grinds the heel of his hand against her clit, his cock finally springing free from his boxers. His pants are around his knees now, and that's good enough for him. He sucks her slick from his fingers, groaning at her taste, crawling between her legs and up her body to kiss her lips again, gripping her thigh with one large hand. 

They're skin on skin as he finally sinks into her, the walls of her heat clutching him, and he groans, angling himself so he can kiss her cheeks and mouth, press their foreheads together as he moves inside her. Her hands are everywhere, dragging down his ribs, clinging to his hips and driving him deeper, meeting his every movement. High little whines escape from her and he breathes them all in, drawing her bottom lip between his teeth, kissing the swollen flesh. Becky breaks them apart, kissing his shoulder, drawing him in closer so she can kiss the tattoo on his chest, the hollow of his throat, then drops her head back, staring up at him with lust-blown eyes, hands finding her way to his face, thumb tracing the line of his mouth. 

It's the intimacy of this simple motion that makes him growl, pound into her hard, his hands moving to her cheeks, tracing the delicate bones there, brushing her hair away, leaning down to kiss and kiss and kiss. 

"Becks," he says. 

"Me too," she says, gasping harshly into his mouth. "Sam. Sam." 

"Becky," he answers, feels her come, body tense with tremors beneath him, and he loses his control a few seconds later, buried inside her, arms shaking with the intensity. 

He drops his head into the curve of her neck, lays a soft kiss to her pulse point, then rolls onto his side, brings her flush to him, wrapping his arms around her, her palms pressed flat against his chest. She tangles their legs together and bumps the top of her head against his chin gently. 

"I'm sorry," he says. 

"I like the way you apologize," she replies and nuzzles his collarbone. 

"I like the way you forgive." 

"You'll have to apologize more before I forgive you." 

"I'm willing." 

She laughs softly, relaxes into his hold, and breathes deeply.

"Later." 


	63. Five

Lacey Colter is in her late twenties, has light caramel hair with dark roots showing and hands that shake. Her brown eyes are filled with tears, and Sam watches his brother hand her a box of tissues. Lacey's husband, Daniel, is the most recent victim. Unlike the other family members they've interviewed today, Lacey seems unconvinced of the official report. 

"You don't believe it was an animal attack?" clarifies Sam, and she shakes her head, wiping at the mascara on her cheeks.

"It ain't the kinda animal they say. Cops don't believe in things, but I do. I grew up knowin' there was somethin' in that swamp." She lets out a soft sob. "I  _ told _ Daniel not to go there, told him there were plenty other places to go, but he didn't believe me. And now he's gone." 

Dean asks, "How did you know there was something out there?" 

"My grandaddy told me," Lacey says simply. "Our family's been livin' here since the sixties. Grandaddy always said that the town has a short memory. Said people don't like to believe we ain't at the top of the food chain. The boys down here hunt gators for a living. Grandaddy said it made 'em fearless, made 'em stupid. He told me there's been something there for as long as the town's been here. Something not natural. It wasn't a gator that took my Daniel. It was the Gator Man." 

"...the what?" 

"The Gator Man," she repeats. "Ate so many men, it became one. At least kinda." 

"Mrs. Colter," Dean says kindly, "what did you grandfather tell you about this, uh, Gator Man?" 

"Ain't nobody ever seen it and lived, except Joe. He was Grandaddy's best friend. Said it was like a gator, but had a kinda... human face. Only green, and it's eyes... The eyes blinked, you know, sideways. No tail, but scales." 

"How did Joe get away?" ask Sam. 

"His brother fell off the boat." She shakes her head. "Joe never got over it. He lives out in that swamp now, far enough away from the thing's hunting grounds to stay safe. Safe enough, anyway. Used to hunt it when he was younger, but now he just keeps to himself. You wanna get the thing that got Daniel? He's the one you gotta talk to." 

Sam exchanges a look with his brother, then turns back to the grieving widow in front of him. Her hands are still trembling as she reaches for her glass. 

"Is there anything else you can tell us, ma'am?" 

"There was a man a few years ago here in town. He went to see Joe. He never came back." She takes a long drink of her iced tea, rests it on her knee. "If you're planning to go after it- Better make sure you got all your affairs in order." 

They thank her for her information and head back to the car. Sam is sweating in his suit within three steps out of the door, the humidity like a second skin it presses in so heavily. He looks at Dean over the Impala, hand on the door.

"What do you think?" 

"I think that we've done more with less," says Dean, then steps inside the car, and Sam follows suit. 

"Yeah," he agrees, clicking his seatbelt into place. "Maybe so, but an alligator turning human?" 

"I don't think that's how it happened, but the legends have to come from somewhere." Dean pulls onto the street, puts his phone up to his ear. "We'll just have to find what it actually is, and thanks to Mrs. Colter's grandaddy, we know a lot more than we did a half hour ago." There's a beat of quiet, then, "Hey, Baby. We got something off the last interview. Tell Becky to look for something native to Florida, something kind of like an alligator... Yeah, I can do that. See you soon. I love you." 

Sam raises an eyebrow. "She ask you to hit me?" 

Dean rolls his eyes. "Pala cares about you, bitch. She asked me to pick up some food on the way back." 

"Dean, she's not exactly my biggest fan right now."

"Sam, no one's your biggest fan right now, including me. Now, look, I'm glad you and Becky made up. I am. But, I'm telling you- This ain't over. We got a long way to go in this hunt, and I know you, man. Soon as it comes down to it, that shit is gonna blow up again, because you don't want her in harm's way. I get that. It's why I left with you in the first place, even though I didn't agree with you." 

"Becky said you talked to her." 

"I told her you were being a jackass. I can see both sides here, and I'm stuck in the damn middle. We all need to be on the same page here, which is why I told Becky that you just want to protect her, and I'm telling you that you can't. And so help me, if you ever tell that woman she's not a Winchester again, Pala won't be the one kicking your ass. I will." 

Sam flinches. "I didn't mean to say it." 

"That's what I told Becky, but I shouldn't have had to. You're too much like Dad."

"That's what I'm afraid of." 

Dean sighs, and Sam knows, he doesn't have to say anything else for his brother to understand.

"You're not that much like him," Dean says. "You wouldn't leave Robert behind with forty bucks and tell him to shoot first."

"I'm not so sure." 

"Yeah, well, that's why you have me. Because I am sure, just like I'm sure that if you don't let Becky take point on this one, things aren't going to end well for any of us. We've got to be a team, Sam." 

Silence falls between them for a few miles, Sam looking out the window at the suburban streets. There was a time that this was all he ever wanted. If he's learned anything, it's the evil can touch a person's life whether they have a picket fence or an arsenal in a trunk. 

Becky had both. Knowledge and know how, and the darkness inside Jimmy made its way into even the brightest parts of her. Sam would do anything to get rid of it, but to let her lead the way into a fight they aren't sure they can win...

It's one thing to see darkness in her eyes; it would be another to see them lifeless.

"How do you do this, man? How do you go out there with your wife and not go insane?" 

"I trust her to take care of herself. I trust you to have her back, and I trust what I can do. I'm not saying it's easy, because it ain't. If I lost Pala again... I don't know, Sam. I don't think I'd like what I'd do. And she's taking more and more risks now that she has the Mark, like she's fucking bulletproof, like she can't... But she can, and that's why I get where you're coming from with Becky. You can't keep her locked up, Sam. Some stuff you gotta do for yourself. Even when it scare the piss outta you." 

"I can't lose her, Dean." 

His brother smiles, reaches out to squeeze his shoulder. 

"I know, Sammy. I'm not gonna let that happen. Just trust me, alright?" 

Sam nods, relaxes into the seat he's called home all his life. Maybe he doesn't know how to work a case with his girlfriend, but he knows how to trust his brother. That's going to have to be enough. 

*

Eyes burning and caffeine long past helpful, Becky reads the paragraph in front of her four times before she admits she has no idea what it says. Sam and Dean are on their way back with food, but she's not hungry. She worked through the night, unable to rest, and now in the late afternoon, with information she's needed to actually narrow down and find the thing that killed Carpenter, she can't focus. She puts down her book with a heavy sigh, rubs her face, and admits defeat. There's simply no avoiding the fact that has to sleep. 

Pala glances at her from across the table, gets to her feet and forces Becky to do the same. 

"Come on, get into bed for a few hours. I'll call Dean, let him know to come to our room. It can wait." 

"Pala, I-" 

"Have done more than enough for the cause. Dean, Sam, and I can read just as well as you can. We'll take it from here." 

Becky frowns. "I just need to wipe my face, maybe drink some more coffee. Or some juice, something with sugar." 

"You  _ need _ to lay off the caffeine. It only takes you so far, Becky. We all know how good you are at what you do, and believe me, I want you on this job with us, but I also want you at your best. Okay?" 

"Okay." 

She allows her friend to lead her to bed and gently push her into a sitting position on the comforter. 

"Get some sleep." 

Becky pushes at the covers and slips beneath them, sighing contentedly as she stretches out and lets her eyes drop shut. 

She dreams.

*

Sam is halfway through his lunch and at the beginning of another section of text that likely holds no answers for them. Dean and Pala are bouncing ideas off each other on the best way to approach the situation; both seem in favor of skipping the extra hours spent in front of lore books. They want to go directly into the swamp to meet with Joe. Sam's inclined to agree, but he doesn't want Becky to go with them until they know for sure how to deal with whatever Gator Man really is. 

"There's a place not too far from here where we can rent an airboat," says Pala, then looks down at the map of Cyan Springs they have, red x's highlighting where the bodies were found. "Looks like Joe lives far enough out from the thing's hunting grounds that it should be safe. When Becky wakes up from her nap, we'll go." 

Sam grits his teeth and turns the page in his book. He doesn't want to fight with his sister, but he doesn't want Becky on the water until he knows he can protect her. 

"What if she doesn't want to go?" asks Sam. 

"Then she doesn't have to," Pala replies, "but I doubt that's going to be the case." 

Dean interjects, "Maybe she should sit this one out." 

"Why?" 

"Because, she doesn't like water, and there's no point in forcing her onto it just for an interview. We still aren't sure how to kill this thing, and it's already taken down at least one experienced hunter that we know of. I won't stop her from going, but I don't think it's a great idea." 

Pala considers this for a long moment, then looks over at Sam. He keeps his expression neutral, not wanting to light the short fuse on Pala's temper, and he's equal parts surprised and relieved to see her face soften. She looks a lot more like his sister than she has since this job started two days ago. 

"I don't want her to get hurt either, Sam. I love her too." 

"I know. I'll leave it up to Becky." 

"I can talk to her if you want." 

Sam smiles at her, happy to see her old smile in response, and he nods, closes the book in front of him. 

"She's tougher than she looks," says Pala. 

"Believe me, I know. I just don't want her to feel like she has to be." He stands up, grabs the bag with Becky's lunch in it, puts his own box in alongside hers. "I'm gonna go see if she's up. If you wanna go see Joe tonight, I'm good with that. Maybe go around six." 

"Sounds good," says Dean. "I'll call the airboat place, make sure they've got one waiting for us." 

It's a short walk back to his room, but long enough for him to think about everything his brother said to him in the car earlier. Sam knows, rationally, that working on this case is probably good for Becky; dealing with the past is messy, but inevitable and important, and confronting it is something that she has to do. But he remembers, like it was yesterday, that horrible minute where he thought she was dead, where he saw her body on the table, limp and soaked. 

_ "Look, Sam, look! She's okay, she's breathing!" _

Sam sighs as he unlocks the door. If Becky is brave enough to face this thing, he's going to have to suck it up and support her, no matter how much it terrifies him. He turns the handle carefully, not wanting to wake her up, easing the door shut behind him without a sound, which makes it easy to hear the tiny whimper. 

The lock snicks into place, and Sam turns to look, sees Becky on her back, on hand near her face, curled into a fist, face tight. He watches for a few seconds, trying to decide if she's alright or not, then crosses the room and sits next to her, lays his hand on her shoulder, thumbing the line of her collarbone.

"Becks," he says. "Wake up, babe." 

She whimpers again in sleep, and Sam squeezes her shoulder, speaks a little louder, but still gently. 

"Becky. Hey. Wake up, Becks." 

Her eyes open. Not for the first time, Sam finds himself grateful that she's a light sleeper. A few tears slip down her cheeks and he leans down to kiss her forehead. This is one of the better times, she'll be alright in a few minutes. He sits up, brings her with him and she leans against the headboard, her hand on his thigh. 

"You wanna talk about it?" he asks. 

"Same kind of stuff. Carpenter, Jimmy, too much water." She shudders visibly. "But, I'm okay. Thanks for waking me up." 

"Yeah, of course." Sam cups her face in both his palms, closes the distance between them so he can touch their lips together, soft and firm. "You're safe, Becky. I'm right here." 

She raises her hands to his wrists and tilts her face to smile at him. "I know." 

He twines their fingers together, rests their hands in his lap, smiles back briefly. 

"We're going to go talk to a man named Joe," he begins. "Looks like he talked to Carpenter before he... Joe's been hunting it for years, since he lost his brother to it. Lives out in the swamp outside its territory. Pala found us a place to rent an airboat. You wanna catch a few more hours, maybe eat something, before we go?" 

Becky looks at him curiously. "Just like that, I'm invited?" 

"It's your case too." 

She shakes her head and lets out a slow sigh. "I don't particularly want to go on this one. I've got a ton of reading to do, and... And." She tucks her hair behind her ear, drops his gaze. "I don't think anybody should go in there before we know what we're up against." 

"He's our best lead, Becky." 

"I know. I just don't think it's a good idea. I think we should all stay put til I figure it out." 

"Okay." 

She looks up, clearly surprised, and Sam feels like the worst kind of asshole. He doesn't like that he put this kind of tension between them. 

"I trust you, and I trust your judgement. You say we should wait, we'll wait." He smiles, lifts his hand back to her face, fingers threading through her soft hair. "There enough time for us to go back to bed?" 

She grins and slides over while Sam shucks off his boots. He lifts the bedspreads and scoots in next to Becky, rolls her onto her side and pulls her flush against his chest. 

"I'm with you on this," he whispers. 

"Thank you," she whispers back.


	64. Six

With new knowledge, Becky's research takes on a much faster pace. It's easier to know what to disregard within a few paragraphs or a quick glance at the few illustrations. The rest of her family is cleaning weapons at her request; Becky wants to be able to have full access to all the research materials they have. Sam, back on his laptop, is searching for information on Joe, trying to figure out where his house is located within the swamp. 

Becky's phone buzzes once, and she looks down. 

**New Message from Castiel**

She drops her pen immediately, breaking into a laugh a second later. 

Castiel hasn't mastered the art of the selfie yet, so he's not smiling in the picture, but Robert is. He's in his swing, a few toys spread on the tray in front of him, a hand on Castiel's cheek. Her chest tightens, and she misses her son so much that tears spring to her eyes. Becky doesn't regret coming, this hunt is somethiing she had to do, but she'd give anything to be able to hold her baby right now. 

"What is it?" asks Sam. 

"Castiel sent a picture," she says, hands her phone across the table to him. "Looks like they're having a good time." 

She sees her own feelings reflected in Sam's face, his lips quirked up in a half smile, brown eyes half-amused and half-sad. 

"Hey, lemme see," says Dean. 

Becky goes back to her work, grateful that she's getting close to figuring out what they're looking for. She's ready to be home again. 

_ One of the most rare creatures of Florida is the chaele _ , writes a Man of Letters.  _ A creature that resembles both man and alligator, with a mostly human face and reptilian eyes, it hunts both human and animal. It can walk on land, but is slower, preferring to swim. Its scales make it almost impervious to weapons, but like an alligator, it's stomach is soft and vulnerable to attack, as are the eyes.  _

"A kale?" asks Dean, suddenly standing behind her, reading over her shoulder. He lays her phone down next to her laptop, leans in for a closer look.

"No, not kale, Dean. A chaele." 

"Like, 'you shall not pass?'"

"Yes, Gandalf. Exactly like that." 

Pala says, "So, we know what it is now?" 

Becky nods. "Yes. This fits the description Mrs. Colter gave them. There's some more information on it, and I'm going to cross reference with a couple other things I found." 

"How do we kill it?"

Becky ignores Pala's thinly veiled enthusiasm. 

"It doesn't say, exactly." 

"From this, it looks like if you can get to its soft spots, it doesn't matter what you use," Dean remarks. "I find that cutting heads off works on almost everything." 

Pala grins, and Becky can't look at it for a longer than a second. 

"That works out well," says Sam. "I think I just found where Joe lives." 

"Great," says Pala. "I'll call that rental place. Think we can be ready to go in a half hour?" 

"Wait a minute," says Becky. "We just barely know what it is. Should we really be rushing headfirst into its hunting grounds?" 

"What's the big deal? We're just going for an interview. Guy's supposed to live pretty far out, so we shouldn't run into it. We'll take some weapons just in case."

Becky takes a deep breath, tries not to let the sudden first starts of panic overwhelm her. The swamp would be terrifying even if there wasn't a creature in it dragging people off. She'll be surrounded by water on all sides, no way to escape, and even though the waters aren't too deep in most places, it's still deep enough to drown. 

_ Cloth, water, choke.  _

_ Salt, tequila, lime.  _

_ No air, no air.  _

"I just think," Becky begins slowly, "that we should wait until I have some more information. Sam only thinks he knows where this guy is, and we have no way of knowing if the chaele has extended its territory." 

Pala crosses her arms over her chest, clearly aggravated, and it's obvious that she's holding something back. Dean glances over at her, then focuses his attention on Becky. 

"You don't have to come," he says gently. "We're not going after it, just trying to get some insight on this thing we won't be able to find in the lore. You can stay here, read up on its weaknesses, and we'll talk to Joe, see what kind of experiences he's had tracking it." 

And there it is, a much kinder way of saying what's written on Pala's face. Becky isn't a hunter, and she's only slowing this hunt down. She's not contributing- She's hindering them. 

"Hey, guys. Can we get a minute?" asks Sam. 

Dean squeezes Becky's shoulder, then takes Pala's hand and leads her out the door. It closes behind them with a soft  _ snick _ , and Sam shuts his laptop to come around the table and kneel in front of her. 

"Hey, look at me." 

She finds it's hard to do as he's asked. She's humiliated. She threw a fit, left her baby with an angel, and flew here to finish this case. It's hers. And yet, Becky wants nothing more than to take Dean up on his offer and stay here in the dry hotel room for a while longer. 

"Nobody thinks you're not doing a good job, Becks," Sam says, searching her eyes with his own. "We're all proud of you. You're doing great. There's no need to force yourself into something you're not ready for. You have nothing to prove." 

She shakes her head. "Did you see Pala's face?" 

"Pala wants a fight. It's not about you. Listen, if you want to go with us-" 

"I don't want any of you to go. It's starting to get dark, and you don't know what you're walking into." 

"I promised you we would wait until you found out what it was. I wish we could wait longer, but we're working against the clock here. There isn't time to wait until we know everything there is to know, and part of that information is located out there. If you want to stay, we're not going to think less of you." 

"You'll probably be relieved," she says bitterly. "Because I'm not a hunter, and I'm useless." 

"That's not true." 

"Just go." 

"Hang on a minute." 

"No. Just- Just go, Sam. And be careful." 

She sighs, utterly defeated, wondering why she was so insistent that she had to be here. There's nothing she's doing that they can't do themselves. Why did she bother? Why was it so important for her to be involved? 

"Babe..." 

"I mean it. I'll see you when you get back." 

Sam leans in, kisses her soft and brief, then gets to his feet. "You're sure?" 

"I'm sure." 

He texts his brother, and a minute later, Dean and Pala reappear. The three of them retrieve their weapons of choice; Pala is the last one out of the room. 

"Last chance," she says. "You sure you don't want to come?" 

"I'm sure." 

"For what it's worth, I think you'll be fine once you do get in there." 

Becky manages a smile. "Watch out for Sam for me, okay?" 

"I always do." 

The door closes heavily, and Becky leans back in her chair, covers her face with her hands, questioning her decision making process. She knew before she got here that if she wanted to be involved, this case would take her somewhere she didn't want to go. She came anyway. 

Now, she's alone in a hotel room, with her family headed away from her and into danger, and she's chosen to stay behind, which is exactly where they tried to leave her. What was the fucking point? 

She looks over to the sink, considering it, then crosses the room and turns the faucet on. The sound is immediate and overwhelming, too harsh, and her heart pounds in her chest, throat tight, and it's already hard to breathe. 

_ "The flies'll find you, other shit too." _

Her hands shake, and she wants to turn it off, let silence filter back into her ears so she can breathe again. 

_ You've bathed Robert, you can do this. _

She forces her hands under the stream, closes her eyes as the tears start. She hates this. God, she hates this. 

_ "We all gotta go sometime. And yours is now, Becky." _

It's only on her hands; she knows this, reasonably. It's only her hands, but it's not. It's her hair and her face and her neck. It's everywhere, and she's going to die, standing here in front of the sink, her boyfriend, best friend and brother out on the water, and she's going to choke to death thinking about it. 

She jerks, manages to shut off the faucet, reaching for one of the rough hotel towels. She dries her hands until they're red and raw, stinging from friction. 

_ Still alive _ , she tells herself, then sighs. 

One tiny faucet and a swamp aren't even close in comparison.

*

The sun's starting to set, the sky a brilliant shade of pink that fades in across the water through the trees. They're moving slow across the surface; Dean's driving of course, easing them around fallen branches, keeping them in open areas as much as is possible. The boat's motor is far too loud, and Sam feels himself start to grow uneasy.

He looks back down at his map, a wide circle of the area he's pretty sure Joe lives in, along with x's marking deaths. There's no overlap, and they should be free and clear. As far as risks go, this one is pretty minor, but they've been searching for a couple hours now and they haven't found anything resembling a house. 

Pala, for her part, looks fairly relaxed, reclining on a bench, looking up at Dean as he steers them through the swamp. His brother doesn't look too concerned either, which makes some kind of sense; Dean's always liked to be outdoors. 

Sam looks out onto the surface, frowns at the way the sunset is obscuring the already murky water. He signals to his brother, and a few seconds later, it's eerily silent. 

"What is it, Sam?" asks Dean. 

"Do you hear that?" 

Pala sits up, tense and alert within a second. "There's nothing," she says.

"Exactly." 

No birds, no bullfrogs. An absolute quiet surrounds them in the heat of the evening, and this isn't something found in nature. There's something here, frightening everything into stillness out of fear. 

Sam's not sure what they should be looking for, but he finds himself searching anyway, because he has this immediate sinking feeling that Becky was right. They shouldn't have come here.

Without warning, there's a loud splash from behind him, and when he turns, he sees his brother falling backwards off the boat, two scaled arms around his chest, dark claws cutting through his layers into the skin beneath. 

"Dean!" he yells. 

There's a second splash, and Sam's alone in the boat, gun drawn, watching the water churn behind the motor.

There's nothing for him to aim at.


	65. Seven

Pala bursts from the water, and Sam fires two rounds at the retreating form beneath the surface, then tucks his pistol into his waist band, dropping to his knees to help haul his bleeding older brother onto the boat. Dean coughs hard, choking as he rolls onto his side, curling into himself. 

"No, Dean," says Pala. "Try to straighten out. Sam, get us the fuck out of here." 

She drags Dean forward as gently as she can, on her knees, and as Sam fires up the engine and turns the wheel, he notes that her arms are scratched and there's some bruising on her face. She's got Dean in her lap, one hand pressed hard against his chest, blood on her fingers, and she's speaking too softly for Sam to hear, but he can see the fear in her face. 

Dean coughs again. "I'm okay, Baby. I'm okay." 

"We've got to get him to a hospital," she tells Sam. "Looks like Carpenter got a piece of that thing; it's missing an eye." 

This is good news in a bad situation: It's been hurt before, it can be hurt again. 

He goes as fast as he can through the swamp, thinks,  _ Becky was right. We should have waited. _

*

There's blood on Sam's shirt. That's the first thing she sees when she hits the emergency room. He's sitting alone, legs sprawled out in front of him, a hand on his face, and she's next to him in seconds, kneeling in front of him, hands on his chest, looking for proof of her worst fears, of the monster in her nightmares. 

"I thought you said it was Dean," she says hurriedly. 

"It was," he says. "This isn't mine." 

He grabs her hands, and she sits down next to him, leaning over the arm rest to pull him into an awkward hug. Sam holds her tight, shaking slightly, and she looks up him. 

"Where's Pala?" 

"She's okay," he says tiredly. "Her arms are cut up pretty bad, so they're stitching her up too. Dean was conscious when we got here, so he's gonna be okay. We're alright, Becky. We made it out." 

"I told you. I told you-" 

"I know, Becks. You were right. That thing- It came out of nowhere, yanked Dean into the water, and Pala was in a second later. She... I don't know what she did, I didn't see, but it got out of there quick." 

There's a moment that passes between them, silent and unspoken, where they wonder privately about what Pala could have possibly done. How she managed to get the chaele to back off, fighting with someone wounded between her, in close quarters, in its natural habitat. No one's that good, but Pala is, even though she shouldn't be. Dean and Pala should both be dead, but they aren't. 

Becky swallows hard. "It's good she's as fast as she is."

"Yeah." 

It's an understatement, purposefully leaving things unsaid, keeping worries buried beneath the surface for another time. Becky has piles of research on the Mark, and thus far, she's not sure what all the pieces add up to. She's not sure she wants to, but now is not the time for speculation or concern. 

Sam sighs, leans back against the uncomfortable chair that's far too small for him. She could have lost her entire family today, because she knows her boyfriend would have leapt in after them if Pala hadn't been able to buy them some breathing room. 

"You're all okay?" Becky asks, needs the reassurance. "You're okay?" 

"I'm fine, babe. Really. Pala just needs some stitches. Not sure how bad Dean is, but he'll be okay." 

Pala pushes through the doors to the ER, steps into the waiting room and finds them in a second. She's furious, face drawn tight, and Becky gets to her feet, pulling her friend into a hug that is returned with tense shoulders. 

"They won't let me see him," Pala growls. "I'm his fucking wife, but they won't let me see him. Said they'll let us know when he's done with his x-rays. I need some fucking air." 

Becky glances at Sam, who nods, and then follows Pala out of the hospital and into the parking lot. Her arms are covered in gauze, and Becky has the great urge to grab each one and check the sutures personally. She's never had a sister, not really, but Pala might as well be hers; whatever else, she knows Pala loves her, and she's worried. 

Pala could have died today. 

"Hey, stop for a second." 

Pala plants her feet and turns sharply, and Becky pulls up short, almost knocking into her. The steel eyes are fierce with rage, and the woman has never looked less human. 

"My husband could have died. I want this thing dead. Very, very dead," she spits. 

"I know, and we'll-" 

"I'm going back out there. Now. Sam can fuck off. I'm going to find Joe and figure out how I kill this thing." 

Becky weighs her options, glances behind her at the double glass doors, and then turns back to Pala. She shouldn't be alone right now, and there's no way she should go after the chaele by herself. 

"I'll come with you," says Becky, figuring Pala's not going to hunt with only her as backup. She's angry, not stupid. "I'll text Sam, tell him you just needed to get out of here for a while, calm down." 

Pala nods. "Okay. Let's go." 

It isn't until she's in the car that Becky truly regrets her decision. Ready or not, she's going into that swamp. 

**She needs to get out of here, maybe grab some food or something. We'll be back soon, let me know when you find out something about Dean. Love you.**

*

It was every bit as awful as she thought it would be, and her hands tremble around her mug of tea that Joe offered her. 

Worse, really. She'd sat still and perfectly straight in the boat, just in front of the helm Pala stood behind, afraid to close her eyes and afraid to keep them open. Every second was terrifying. The sound and light spray on her skin was almost enough to send her into a panic attack, if not for her friend's voice over it all, barely keeping her rooted to the here and now. 

"So, you're here about the Gator Man," says Joe. 

"It's called a chaele," Becky replies. She's leaned forward on his threadbare couch, elbows on her knees, still trying to calm down, her words holding a slight shake. "According to our source." 

"Don't really matter what you call it." He looks at Pala interestedly. "You and your husband saw it? And you survived?" 

"We did." 

"How'd you do it?" 

Becky turns her head, watches Pala shrug, half-embarrassed, half-disinterested. Truth be told, she's curious as to what the answer would be, not certain she really wants to know. 

Pala answers, "It had my husband. I didn't think too much about it." 

Joe settles against his chair, steeples his fingers. "That's it?" 

"It's strong," says Pala. "It's not invincible. Not all of the blood was ours. It's missing an eye- Becky's friend, he must have done that, unless it was you." 

"No, that was him, I reckon. Couple times I've crossed paths, it had both. I thought he'd gotten it for sure. We hadn't had a death here in a couple years, not since he didn't come back. Guess it just retreated deeper in, til it got brave again." 

"Joe, we need to know how to kill it. Whatever it is you told Carpenter," says Becky. 

His gaze slides from Pala to her, eyes appraising, taking in the tremor in her hands before looking at her directly. 

"You're afraid," he says simply. "You look like a bookworm." 

"Becky's tougher than she looks, and she's got me for backup," Pala says, no mistaking the edge in her tone. "That woman is smarter and more resourceful than damn near anyone on the planet. She can handle herself." 

Joe doesn't look away, but his face softens a little, though his eyes don't lose their flint. 

"Can't be scared of it, you wanna come out of here alive," he drawls. "It ain't gonna be clean, gettin' this thing dead."

"I just need a way to do it," says Becky. "Carpenter- The man you spoke to was important to me. I'm here for him."

"Willing to die for a memory?" Joe asks. 

"Aren't you?" She stares him down, palm burning from the mug's heat, and it settles her. "Mrs. Colter told us you've been hunting this thing since your brother's death." 

He laughs, an unexpected and sharp sound. There's no humor in it. Becky breathes deep and slow; this man makes her uncomfortable, looks the way she imagines Sam might, or Dean, if they didn't have this family. 

"It's getting dark out there," Joe comments. "And your hands are still shaking." 

Pala cuts in, anger thinly controlled. "Tell us how to kill it, so I can finish what you couldn't," she hisses scathingly. 

He never looks away from Becky, smiling an ugly smile. "Near as I can figure, best thing to do would be to string it up and gut it like a gator." 

Becky feels her stomach roll, and Joe's ugly smile widens to a grin when he sees the effect his words have had.Carnage isn't her thing, it never will be. She can't imagine taking Sam's knife to this thing and opening it up, intestines spilling onto her hands. What do intestines even smell like? 

Pala would know, but Becky will never ask, especially not with the pure savagery, the  _ hunger _ , on her friend's face. 

"Thank you for your help," is all she can think to say, setting down her mug and motioning that it's time for them to leave. 

*

"Hey, Becky." 

"Yeah?" she asks through clenched teeth, eyes squeezed shut. 

"Why don't you come here and let me show you how to move this thing, in case later you need to know how?" 

Becky's surprised by the question, the offer, and she isn't sure she can move right this second. She feels precarious, like if she so much as twitches she'll topple over into the water and drown, the ghosts of Carpenter and Jimmy there to pull her under. 

"I won't let you get hurt," Pala says. "The birds are still singing, we're safe. It's not anywhere near here. Come on." 

Carefully, so slowly she must be driving her friend crazy, Becky gets to her feet and forces her eyes to open. Pala is smiling at her, pride and love all over her face, and Becky eases her way behind the helm, elbow bumping against the brunette's. 

"Good. I knew you could do it." Gone is the most dangerous person on the planet, and in her place stands Becky's best friend, one slim hand on the blonde's shoulder. "I know that you're scared, and I know Sam wants you to stay out of this. It's okay to be scared, Becky. You'd have to be stupid to not be, given what you've been through. But, I'm telling you- You can do this. You can come back in this swamp with us and finish this thing off. You can." 

"I can barely stand right now I'm so fucking scared." 

"But you're doing it anyway. That's what matters."

And so, Becky white-knuckles her way out of the swamp, Pala by her side, talking her through it and then cheering when they reach the dock. She feels a little nauseous, and her hands are cramping, but she did it. It was terrifying and horrible, and what she wouldn't give to never have to go back in there ever again. 

But she did it. And she'll do it again, to see this thing through.

That's what matters.


	66. Eight

**They're keeping Dean for observation. He'll have a room within ten minutes. Where are you? **

**Room 1129. Where are you? **

**Did you fall asleep?**

**Where are you? **

**Becky, are you okay? **

**Please answer me.**

**Where are you? **

Sam's starting to come a little unhinged, watching his brother's chest rise and fall, waiting to hear from his girlfriend. He didn't think she'd be gone for so long, figured Pala wouldn't stray too far from Dean, pissed or not. 

Finally, his text notification goes off, phone already in his hand, and he opens it with relief, grateful to finally hear from Becky. 

**We'll be there in ten minutes. Sorry I worried you. **

Sam sighs. He knows, rationally, that Becky is probably safer with Pala than anyone else. His sister may be angry and under the Mark's influence, but she's always been protective of the blonde, careful with her temper when Becky's around. Still, hours of silence immediately following his brother's near death was not what his nerves needed. He takes a sip of coffee, lets his eyes drop shut as he sets his cup on the table. 

"Sam?" Becky's voice is soft, her hand light on his arm as she shakes him. "Wake up. I'm here." 

He hadn't realized he'd dozed off, and he blinks several times, his girlfriend swimming into his view. He smiles at her, raises a hand to her cheek, fingertips brushing her hair. It's damp. 

"Did you... Did you take a shower?" he asks incredulously. 

"I... No. Come on," she says, taking his hand in hers. "I need to talk to you." 

He follows her, down the hall and into the chapel, and she lets go of his hand to close the door behind them. They're alone, for now, and he looks at her back expectantly, waiting for her to turn around, but she doesn't, not until he reaches out for her, curling his fingers around her wrist and pulling gently. 

She faces him, searching his eyes, a plea for patience written across her features, nervousness evident in the pout of her lips. Sam doesn't like the feeling in his stomach. 

"Becks... What is it? What did you do?" 

"I know how to kill it." 

It's a simple statement, good news even. The silence hangs between them, and he puts everything together quickly. Her hair, the long hours she was gone, the apology in her eyes. 

"You went to see him," says Sam. "Joe. You went into the swamp with Pala." 

"She was going to go with or without me. I didn't think she should go alone." 

"You begged me not to go into that swamp. You told me it was a bad idea, and then you turned around and did it yourself." 

"Sam-" 

"Don't. I can't right now. I just- I'm sorry. I can't." 

He pushes past her, and her fingertips brush against his back, prompting him to pause, hand on the doorknob. 

"Sam, wait. I know you're angry, and you have every right to be. It was hypocritical and dangerous and stupid. I know that, I knew it when I went in there, but I couldn't let my best friend go in there alone. I knew if she did, she would go after the chaele by herself, tonight, and I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't." 

He lets his hand drop to his side, sighing as the anger goes out of him. Had it been Dean, he knows without a doubt that he would have done the exact same thing. 

"What did Joe say?" 

"To string it up and gut it," says Becky, and Sam doesn't have see her to know she's wincing at the imagery. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, turning to look at her again. 

"I'm... It was awful. It was. Pala showed me how to drive- sail?- the boat. And it was terrifying, and all I want right now is a towel and to blow dry my hair. But, I did it. And I'm going back in there with you." 

Sam cups her face in his palms, stroking her cheek with his thumb, her hands raising up to hold his elbows. He nods. He can't keep her from this, as much as he might like to. More than that, 

"I'm so proud of you, Becks." 

She smiles at him, small and shy, and before she can reply, he leans down to press his lips against hers.

*

Dean is still asleep, held under by some pretty powerful pain killers, and Becky is keeping watch. Pala had all but refused to leave, finally swayed by the lure of clean clothes that hadn't dried awkwardly after her unexpected jump off the boat. She'd kissed Dean's forehead with more tenderness than Becky's seen from her in a long time, her hands gentle on his face, and there were tears in the steel eyes when she asked Becky to look after him. 

Pala may be Marked, but she isn't lost to them, not yet. The idea gives Becky hope, and if she weren't so tired, she'd turn to her research, pull up the Google Doc on her phone and read through everything she's already compiled. However, exhaustion wins that battle, and she instead turns on the television, setting the volume low as she watches late night infomercials. As far as she knows, Sam is still in the chapel, or he might have gone back to the hotel with Pala to change, take a shower. 

Becky runs her fingers through her hair and sighs, yanking it into a half-hearted ponytail. Speaking of showers, she needs one herself. She glances at the door to Dean's private bathroom, considering the stall that she had seen in there when she'd relieved her bladder earlier. Just the idea makes her breath hitch, and she figures she braved the swamp, there's no need to brave the shower too. She'll just have to ask Sam later. 

It's like having a handicap, only it's the most ridiculous one she can think of. She hates it, knows that she used to love what she's now afraid of, but it doesn't matter. She can't rationalize her way out of her fear, only white knuckle her way through what she absolutely has to, and she doesn't  _ have _ to wash her hair right this second. 

Strictly speaking, she didn't  _ have _ to take Pala's place at the helm, either. 

Before she can think anymore on it, Dean stirs, lets out a pitiful groan and opens his eyes. 

"Becky? Where's Pala?" 

Becky smiles at him. "She went back to the hotel to get some clean clothes. She'll be back before too long."

Dean nods, tries to sit up and groans again; Becky lays a hand on his arm. 

"Maybe don't do that just yet. Don't want you to pull your stitches."

He sinks back against his pillows with a sigh. "Yeah, hate for that to happen before the next run in with the chaele." 

"We know how to kill it now. Pala and I talked to Joe." 

It's very quiet in the room all of a sudden, the infomercial a soft murmur of voices in the background, and Dean closes his eyes briefly, his face pained. When he opens them again, he turns them directly onto Becky. 

"You went into the swamp," he states needlessly. "Sam know?" 

"He knows." 

"Great. How'd he take it?" 

"Like you'd expect, but we're okay." 

"Yeah, I'll believe that when I see it. I'm gonna guess that was my wife's idea?" 

"I didn't want her to go alone. I knew if I was there, she wouldn't go looking for it. She was really angry- They wouldn't let her see you at first, after they stitched her up." 

Dean's eyes flash with fear. "Stitches? Is she-" 

"She's okay, Dean. Just some cuts on her arms. She got it off of you, got hurt in the process." 

"Yeah, I remember. She was..." 

He trails off, looking beyond her and into the past, reliving it. Becky clears her throat. 

"How'd she do it? She didn't explain what happened."

"I don't really know. I was trapped between them, and then I wasn't. Whatever she did..." He sighs. "I don't know. But, hey. You survived a trip out there. Good job." 

She smiles under the praise, ignores his deflection. Nobody wants to think too hard on what Pala can do. 

"Thanks." 

"You coming back out there with us?" 

"That's the plan." 

Dean nods. "I'll back your play," he tells her. "I know Sam's okay right now, but just in case he tries to change his mind- He's gonna get outvoted. You want in on this, you're in. But Becky, if you want out... That's okay too." 

She looks away from him for a second, to the bathroom door, to a sink filled with bubbles and a slippery baby boy. One day, her little boy will be a man, half-Winchester, half-Rosen. Everyone knows about the Winchesters, what they bring to the table, but what will she pass on to her son? How can she teach Robert to be brave when she herself lives in fear? 

"I know it seems like there's a choice here, but there's not. I have to see this one through. It's not about what I want," she admits. "It's about what I have to do. It's about Robert, and how one day, he'll be frightened, and I won't be there, and he'll have only my example to guide him." 

"You're a good mom, Becky." 

"I'm trying. He's not just a Winchester, you know. He's a Rosen too." 

Dean smiles at her. "Rosens know their shit," he says. "I'm willing to fight with at least one of them, but I think I can wait a little longer before the other one joins." 

"I think I could wait forever," Becky admits, "but he'll be his father's son." 

"He'll be his mother's too." 

The words are few, but the meaning is infinite. 

*

Becky swipes some rubbing alcohol from the nurse's station, worries that being around her family is slowly turning her into a criminal, especially when she grabs some air freshener from the custodian's cart. Her skin is crawling, and Sam has yet to return; it's two in the morning, and she doesn't begrudge him or Pala any rest they're attempting. 

She eases back into Dean's room, careful not to wake him. He'd fallen back asleep not long after their conversation, struggling to stay conscious just long enough to ask the night nurse to remove the morphine drip. As he told Becky privately, he'll need a clear head to take on the chaele, and she hadn't bothered to tell him he should maybe stay behind. If he's willing to let her, arguably the worst person for the job, come along, then there is no way she would try to convince him to sit this one out.

The door to the bathroom locks with an audible click, and she strips down quickly, sprays her clothes with the air freshener and hangs them up, then grabs some paper towels and douses them with the rubbing alcohol. An improvised whore's bath it is. 

There's nothing she can do for her hair, except yank her fingers through the snarls, then french braid it as tight as possible. Her skin feels tight, but clean, and she redresses in a hurry, stashes the stuff she took behind the toilet, heads out to reclaim her seat beside Dean's bed. 

She checks her phone for messages, doesn't find any, so she texts Castiel with a request for a picture. Less than a minute later, one arrives. 

Robert is asleep in his crib, looking warm and soft, and she misses the smell of his hair, the way he fits against her as she gets his bottle made in the middle of the night. Part of her wants to leave now, she's done her part. Killing isn't something she's ever done, and her only hunt ended with heavy scars that Sam likes to trace with his fingers. 

She meant what she said to Dean, though, and she means it now, even as she touches her baby's face on a cold screen. Eventually, she'll teach her child about the value of courage, and she'll be able to tell him what it means firsthand... provided she survives. 

Robert's face goes blurry at the thought.


	67. Nine

Sam wakes disoriented, loud noise filtering into his dreams, and when he places his surroundings, he curses under his breath. He hadn't meant to fall asleep.

He opens the door for his sister, and before he can apologize or say anything, she cuts in. 

"Guess you fell asleep too." 

"Yeah." He pulls his phone out of his pocket. Almost three in the morning, no messages or missed calls. "Becky and Dean haven't tried to get ahold of me. You?" 

She shakes her head. "They're safe in the hospital. The chaele hasn't ever left that swamp, I don't think it's going to start now. You ready to go?" 

Sam nods, pats down his jacket pocket for the keys, sighing when Pala holds them up. He's really out of it; the last few days haven't been conducive to rest. 

"Coffee?" she suggests. 

"Food too," he agrees and follows her out the front door, sliding into the passenger seat without protest. He's too tired to drive. 

He could almost fall back into unconsciousness, easily lulled by the motions of the Impala, eyes dropping shut without his permission, body relaxing into the familiar cushions. Pala is quiet, breathing even and unhurried, her fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel as she eases them on slow neighborhood streets. A town this size, almost everything is within walking distance; speed limits are low and enforced. 

There's not much available at this time in the morning. Even the donut shops won't be open for another hour, but there's a small twenty-four restaurant across from the hospital. Sam guesses the staff keeps it in business, along with a few insomniacs and people passing through. Pala pulls into the lot and shuts off the engine. 

"Come on, let's just get a table. Eat like civilized people for a change. I'm tired of takeout boxes. We'll get Becky and Dean something to go, but they're both probably passed out right now." 

Sam nods and steps onto the gravel, door closing behind him with a creak. The restaurant only boasts eight tables and a bar, and Pala grabs a booth near the emergency exit, seating herself so she's facing the front door. She has to be just as tired as he is, but she's far more alert, almost fidgety, and as he sinks heavily and wearily into the seat across from her, she's already flagging down the waitress. Two black coffees are ordered and a menu placed in front of him before he can say anything. 

Pala passes him a couple creamers and sugar packets, stirring her own with easy, practiced motions. She looks content, comforted almost, in the ease of the early hour. It's the first bit of downtime they've had, and while Sam maybe should be trying to push them into action, he's not. 

She's still scanning the menu, sipping cautiously at her coffee. 

"Do you think Dean would rather have pancakes and bacon or an omelette?" 

"I think Dean will just be glad he doesn't have to eat hospital food," Sam cracks, and Pala looks up at him with a grin. 

"You've got me there," she says, then glances back down at the menu. "Becky won't eat the eggs from here," Pala continues conversationally, "and we'll have to stop at some other coffee shop to find a place that sells non-dairy creamer." 

Sam frowns, finally opening his menu to look at the options. "She's not usually too picky if we're out, and there's nothing else available, but yeah, maybe not eggs." 

The waitress reappears, and they place their orders, two to go, and two for here. Pala leans back in her seat with a sigh, looking at Sam with a kind expression. 

"You know she's going to come with us." 

"I don't see why she and Dean can't stay at the hospital." 

Pala rolls her eyes. "You don't really expect your brother to sit back and wait for the victory call, do you? Have you met him?"

"If you asked him to, he-" 

"Would argue with me, and he'd end up going anyway. He's had worse injuries and still finished up hunts. By himself a lot of the time, so there's no way we're keeping him out of this, short of tying him to the bed, and that's not going to hold him. Just slow him down." 

She's right, and Sam knows it. This hunt is quickly turning into one of his least favorite and most aggravating. Pala grins, as though she can read his mind as well. 

"Oh, come on. This isn't even in the top ten worst jobs." 

"It is for me. I don't want Becky within a hundred miles of this place, and now she's right in the thick of things." He shakes his head, frustrated. "I don't know how you and Dean do this." 

He doesn't expect for this to render her silent, but it does. She leans forward, hands wrapped around her coffee cup, one thumb at the rim as she raises it to take a large sip, eyes staring off to the right as she thinks. He wants to press, wants to know what button he's pushed, but instead drinks his own coffee, waiting for their food to arrive. It's a couple minutes before Pala trains her gaze back on him. 

"There's no other way for us," she says gently. "Dean is a hunter, always has been, and even before the Mark, that was what I wanted. I can't bear to sit at home and wait, not when I've been around it before you were out of diapers. Becky, though- Becky chose to sit on the sidelines." 

"It's safer there." 

"Sometimes," Pala points out, voice still calm and careful. "Becky almost died on the sidelines too. Granted, it was an isolated event, but it left its mark on her." A pause, and when Sam doesn't respond, she goes on. "Sam, she needs this. She needs to find this thing, because she couldn't before. This is the darkest part of her life, and she has to follow where it leads so she can find her way out of that darkness. It won't be enough for us to kill it and tell her it's dead. She has to be there, has to know firsthand that she did it. You wouldn't ask me or Dean to sit back on something so personal, and we wouldn't ask you to either. Don't ask that of her. Because, either you're going to start a bigger fight, or you'll win and she'll miss her only chance for closure." 

He knows all this, on one level. His brother, and now his sister, have made it quite clear that he has to let Becky walk right into the chaele's territory. 

"Trust me," says Pala. "Trust me to keep her safe." 

"I do," says Sam. "I trust you. I trust my brother. But, if I lost her... What will I tell my son, when he's older?" 

"You tell him what Becky will have to if you die on a hunt. It goes both ways, Sammy." 

Their food arrives, and Sam eats mechanically, pulls out his phone to text Castiel, receives a photo of his son a second later, stares at the round face of his boy, sound asleep and safe in his crib. Imagines having to tell him that Mommy is dead. Imagines Becky explaining that Daddy is gone. 

He wonders when the Winchesters will stop bleeding for the world, if it's even possible.

*

"Your timing is excellent, but I'm not sure how much of a conversation you can hold with an infant," Castiel tells Becky after she requests to talk to her son. 

"Just put me on speaker." 

"Robert, your mother wishes to speak with you."

"Robert, it's Mommy. Can you hear me?" She's sitting in the sanctuary, right in front of the pulpit, staring at the cross on the wall behind it. For a small chapel in a hospital, it's a beautifully crafted space. "I'm going to come home soon, but first I need to tell you some things. You won't remember this conversation, but Castiel will, and he'll tell you about it when you're older if I don't... Just... Just listen for now.

"Mommy is really scared, baby. I kinda wish I had stayed home with you, and I kinda don't know why I wanted to come here so badly, but I guess it isn't so much that I want to, but that I need to. My friend got killed, and then another one tried to... to... Well, he was angry, he was upset about Mommy's other friend, because that was his friend too. And the thing that killed my friend, that killed Carpenter, it's hurting people again. 

"Nothing is more important than being your mother, Robert. I want you to know that. Of everything I've ever been, this is the best. But, I'm not just your mommy, I'm still Becky, and I guess part of me is still Rose. And this is something Becky....something  _ I _ have to do. 

"I know you're too young to understand. I'm not sure your daddy understands either, to tell you the truth, but I have to do this, because how can I tell you that it's important to face what you're afraid of if I hide from the things that scare me? I don't know, Robert. I just... Don't know. But, I may not come home, baby. Aunt Pala and Uncle Dean and Daddy- They're going to do their best to make sure I do, but this family has a dangerous job.

"I just don't want you to think that I chose this over you. It's not like that, Robert. It's  _ not _ , and maybe I should come home right now, but I just can't, and I hope one day you'll forgive me, if... If I don't..." 

She's crying now, and her voice breaks, and a hand rests on her shoulder, startling her, and she looks up to see Sam, calm and understanding. He kneels next to her, looking at her, but speaking to their son. 

"Robert, your mommy is the bravest woman I know, and one day, when you're older, we'll tell you about the time she saved a town from a monster. We'll tell you together, because we're both coming home soon, son. 

"And if... If we don't... We love you, Robert. We love you so much more than you can imagine," Sam says, squeezing Becky's hand, his brown eyes welling with unshed tears. "But, this is something we have to do. For Mommy, and her friend, and because no one else can. This is what our family does, but you can make your own choices." 

"You can be whatever you want to be," she chokes out.

"We'll see you soon, Robert. We love you." 

Sam ends the call without saying goodbye and wraps his arms around her, drawing her face into his shoulder, his shirt soaking up her tears. She clings to him, taking in all the comfort he's offering, breathing in his scent, reveling in his warmth and solidness. 

"I miss him so much, Sam," she whispers into his neck. 

"Me too, Becks." He leans back on his heels, cups her cheek in one large palm, callouses rough against her smooth skin, his thumb stroking the delicate bone beneath her eye. "Come on. We've got a job to finish, and a little boy to get home to." 

Sam stands and offers a hand to her, and she takes it, walks with him out of the chapel to find the rest of their family. 


	68. Ten

To no one's surprise, Dean checks out AMA, wincing his way down to the Impala, sliding into the backseat with Pala. He drops his head on his wife's shoulder, his arm curled around himself, and she holds him tenderly, clearly concerned, steel eyes troubled. 

Becky wants to suggest that they wait, but Dean's ribs are only bruised and his stitches are holding, so there's no sense arguing. 

"How's it going back there?" asks Sam, easing them out of the parking lot and onto the road. 

"It's great," says Dean, eyes still shut. 

Becky and Sam exchange a look of concern, her own thoughts reflected in his face. 

"I'm serious. Get us to the hotel so I can take some aspirin. I'm sick of this town, and the sooner we're done here, the better."

"Dean..." Pala's voice is soft. "Are you going to be-" 

"I'm fine, Baby. Just a little stiff. Hospital beds aren't all that comfortable."

The rest of the ride passes in silence, and once they arrive, no one misses the way Dean leans a little heavier on Pala than he normally would during the short walk to his room. He drops hard into a chair, groaning at the impact, but then he flashes Sam a grin, even if it is a little weak. 

"Guess I should do yoga like you, little brother." 

And that easy, the tension breaks. Everyone laughs at the idea, then gets to work, Dean included. He pops a few mild pain killers, and within an hour, he's moving easier, loading up weapons with the rest of them. Between the four of them, they're bringing almost the entire armory, because "string it up and gut it" isn't something they typically do. A trip to Outdoor World is suggested and rejected within a span of two minutes, and then they're headed back out to the car, Dean far steadier on his feet this time.

A discussion strikes up as they head towards the boat rental place on the best way to draw out and trap this thing. Becky stares out the window, letting the conversation wash over her, trying to calm her racing heart as she thinks about where she'll be in a few minutes. Already, she feels the phantom touch of water in her hair, and she has to fight to keep from wiping imaginary moisture from her skin. 

She breathes slowly, the road changing from paved to gravel, the trees thick around them, and she wonders if Carpenter traveled this way, knowing it would be his last time on land. 

Suddenly, she cuts into the conversation. 

"Where did they find Carpenter's body?"

*

Sam has to hand it to Becky- She has a talent for finding nuances that the rest of them miss. Carpenter had to set up somewhere, and once they located where his corpse was discovered, it was a fairly simple matter to backtrack deep into the swamp, if time consuming. The remnants of what used to be a cabin and is now little more than a shack sticks out against the trees, a pier jutting out into the water. Becky shakes as she steps off the boat onto the dock, but she's on her feet, staring at the dilapidated shelter with a frown. 

"How old is that thing?" she wonders out loud, and Dean answers her. 

"Fucking old. Come on, it's getting dark out here." 

Sam notes that the house is built on stilts, but low, sitting over a shallow area, while the pier is over relatively deeper water. The door sticks, swollen into the jamb with the humidity, but a few hard shoves and it gives way. He and Dean stumble around with their flashlights until they find a couple of old lanterns, his brother complaining about the stench that has even Sam a little queasy. This used to be someone's fishing cabin, he guesses, judging by the sparseness of the furniture. Becky crosses to the table, where an open red canvas bag sits, and she runs her fingers over the zipper, not delving into the contents. 

"Carpenter's?" he asks her, coming to stand by her side. 

She nods. "Yeah. It's got some weapons in it, his journal too." 

"You okay?" 

"No, but that's not important." She's careful as she takes out Carpenter's journal, its pages expanded from humidity and water damage. Becky turns to the last page, and Sam reads along with her. 

_ Rose still hasn't figured out what this thing is exactly, but I talked to Joe, and I don't think I need a name for it. Gator Man suits my purposes just fine. There's a cabin I passed the first time I went through this place, and I'm gonna hole up there, try to draw it into the shallow water. It's pretty deep, maybe ten to twelve feet in some places, but the cabin itself sits over what can't be more than two. The Gator Man prefers to swim, so if I can get it on its hind legs, I got a better shot at it. I'd try to lay a trap, but I don't like the idea of wading out there any longer than I have to. Some of the local boys suggested a snare, but I can't imagine there's one big enough for this thing. Probably should have brought Jimmy on this hunt with me, but there's no use worrying about that, it won't be so tough once I get it out of its comfort zone, I don't think. _

Becky has tears streaming down her cheeks when she finishes the entry, and she tries to laugh, says, "I haven't cried this much since I was pregnant with Robert." 

"I think you're allowed." He wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her in close. "He got cocky- It happens even to the best of hunters, but his plan isn't bad. He just shouldn't have come in alone. We'll get it, Becky. We will." 

She nods, turns into him to and lays her hands against his back, face pressed into his chest. "Let's get started. Dean's right, it's almost dark, and we don't know how to draw this thing out yet." 

"I've got a few ideas," says Pala, kicking a cooler on the floor. "Judging by the smell, Carpenter used raw meat, and not all of it. More like soup now, probably. Toss this into the water, and it should come running. Maybe don't open it until it's underwater, though." 

Normally, it'd be Dean helping him carry this, but Pala pushes her husband aside, stepping into knee-high water with an aggravated growl, submerging the cooler before they pry open the plastic lid. She wrinkles her nose. 

"If that doesn't get its attention, nothing will."

*

The moon comes into view as the hours pass, while Becky and her family move restlessly in and out of the front door, waiting for the sounds of wildlife to fade, signaling the chaele’s approach. They’ve all ended up on the deck, Dean and Pala posted on one side, Sam on the other. Becky stands in the middle, back against the doorjamb, waiting anxiously, slightly nauseous from the smell of the rotted chum. 

There’s a slight breeze, and Becky swats at the mosquitoes, feeling caged in and damp from sweat, which makes her feel almost itchy, her knees a little weak, but she pretends it’s just fatigue and not fear. She edges a little closer to Sam, stretches out an arm to take his hand, their fingers slotting together, and he smiles at her encouragingly. 

“I’m so proud of you,” he says, then his expression changes and he lets go of her hand, draws his gun. 

Pala and Dean straighten up, and Becky takes a small step back, not sure of her place in this. There is perfect silence, only the sounds of their breathing, hers quick and erratic, disturbing the peace. It’s close. 

“Do you see it?” Dean asks, low, barely audible. 

“Not yet,” says Pala. “Sam?” 

“No, there’s nothing, but it’s got to be here somewhere.” 

The water is still, only the gentle sounds of the slow current, nothing to suggest there’s anything other than a few fish swimming. Becky feels dread knot tight in her belly, and she takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself, reaching behind to the pistol tucked against the small of her back. 

The deck explodes in front of her, wood shattering, splinters cutting into her, and she is face to face with the chaele, water splashing onto her front, on her skin, her face. It has come from beneath, silent and deadly, face a sickly shade of green, standing in the shallows, its scaled arms reaching out for her, claws black and sharp and mere inches from her, its sharp teeth bared, the one eye it has fierce and yellow. 

“Becky!” yells Sam.

He is between her and the chaele in a heartbeat, and in the next second, he is gone, scaled arms yanking him into the hole of the deck and down below. 

“Sam!” yells Dean, yells Becky. 

Pala is faster, running past the ruined wood and out onto the pier, following not sound, but the direction of the waves. Becky and Dean are not far behind, and they’re almost to the end when the chaele resurfaces with Sam, who breathes in deep and loud, a sharp gasp of air, of pain. He’s fighting, struggling with the creature, crying out for his brother, and there’s a loud splash as Pala jumps off the edge of the pier. 

“Dammit!” Dean curses, and then there’s a second splash as he jumps in after her. 

Becky screams, not sure who she’s calling after, alone and frightened, looking on in the moonlight, searching for Sam, for Pala, for her brother, finding only water, only the signs of a fight taking place. She can hear them, see the water’s spray, but it’s Sam she’s desperate for.

There he is, head barely visible, just a few feet from Pala and Dean and the chaele, body submerged, and without thinking, she dives. 

It’s cold and inescapable, but she moves forward on instinct, Sam her only thought, what should be panic only fueling her desire to reach him as fast as possible, cutting through the water with broad strokes until she finally lays a hand on him. She hasn’t done this in years, not since summer camp as a kid, when everyone took turns pretending to drown, and her form leaves a lot to be desired, but Sam is almost weightless this way, and she gets an arm across him, pulls him tight to her. She can hear Dean calling for Pala, his wife answering, a scream of something inhuman and unnatural, but it’s background, it’s secondary to the sound of Sam trying to breathe. She moves, one arm and two legs, until finally her feet find purchase in the mud, and then they both sink into the ground, water still everywhere, but they can rest, catch their breath. 

“Becks,” coughs Sam. “Becks, you’re- You’re.” 

She almost laughs, but it comes out as a sob, and she flings herself onto him, pressing their slick cheeks together, tastes mud in her mouth, but she doesn’t care. Sam is right next to her, cold and shaking, but alive, alive and breathing, alive and beside her. 

“Sam?” calls out Dean. 

“He’s okay,” Becky answers back. 

“Thank fuck,” says his brother, and there’s the sound of two sets of legs kicking through the water, and Becky knows, Pala saved them all. “You two done making out down there, or what?” 

Sam raises a hand, bloody and dirty and wet, and Becky presses her cheek into it. 

“You saved me,” says Sam. 

She pushes up on her knees, helps Sam do the same. He’s bleeding profusely, favoring his right arm, the sleeve of his shirt ripped to shreds, but he’s okay. More or less. 

“It’s about time I returned the favor,” Becky replies.


	69. Epilogue

The adrenaline wears off halfway back to the car, but Becky forces herself to focus not on the damp, but on Sam. He’s going to need stitches, the makeshift bandage soaked through. Pala is limping, barely able to put weight on one knee, and her elbow has swollen up pretty badly, her lip split, face bearing three distinct claw marks, another trailing down her neck. Dean’s chest is covered in blood, a sure sign he’s popped his sutures. He’s behind the wheel, easing them through the swamp as fast as he can without wrecking them on a fallen branch. Becky got off the easiest, and she knows this, knows it should be her guiding them out of here, but Dean waves her off with a grimace, for which she’s grateful. The panic is only barely at bay, and she knows she’s going to feel every bit of this in the morning, from the splinters across her front to the ache that’s already in her muscles from dragging Sam to safety. 

He’s in pain, that much is obvious, but he’s smiling at her, holding her with his good arm, her head tucked under his chin. They’re all too tired to speak, Pala especially, her leg stretched out in front of her. She’s seated right in front of the helm, as close to Dean as she can get, but when she catches Pala looking, she grins. 

“Good job, Becky.” 

The night shift at the rental place looks shocked at their appearance, but Dean just shrugs it off and tosses him the keys, then slips an arm around his wife and helps her to the car. Becky doesn’t think she’s ever driven the Impala before, and Sam ends up in the backseat with his brother, because she has to scooch the seat up so close so she can reach the pedals. 

Fifty-five stitches. Sam will have scars, but Dean’s will fade in time. Becky excuses herself to the nurse’s station, finds a dry pair of scrubs in her size and lifts them, drops her clothes into a biohazard bag and goes off in search of her family. Sam’s waiting for her, a little drowsy from the pain medication, but awake enough to answer her. 

“Fly home with me?” 

“When can we leave?” 

Dean and Pala are happy to duck out of the hospital before their doctors return, and they retreat to their own room, with promises to be home in a few days. Becky packs quickly, drops Sam’s duffel into the backseat of the Impala, then loads her suitcase and her boyfriend into the rental car and drives them to the airport. 

They get a few strange looks, and she’s not sure that security doesn’t want to do a pat down on Sam, but they look more pitiful than threatening. As the plane takes off, he leans in close to her. 

“Remember when I was an asshole and told you that you weren’t a Winchester?” 

She nods. 

“How would you feel about changing that?” 

“That’s the worst proposal I’ve ever heard,” she replies, tiredly and lovingly. “But, yes.” 

“I’ll do it right, I promise,” he says, eyes heavy with exhaustion. “But I had to know.” 

She’s never been happier to see the bunker come into view. They both slept on the plane, which wasn’t nearly enough, but there’s enough in them to stand at their baby’s bedside and watch him sleep for a long time, arms around each other, battered and bruised, but breathing. Together. 

Becky eases Robert into her arms, careful not to wake him, tears springing to her eyes at his warm weight, and Castiel moves the crib into their bedroom at her request. She wants to sleep listening to her baby, and his father seems to feel the same way. Sam falls asleep first, Robert on his chest, and Becky doesn’t look away for a very long time, her whole heart right there in front of her. Finally, she gathers her little boy up and tucks him into bed, then walks down the hall. 

She strips, and for the first time in two years, steps beneath the shower’s spray alone.

She laughs. 

**The End**


	70. A New Day

**A New Day** **   
** ** _Dean has faith. _ **

* * *

Nothing is as lethal as she.   


There is a monster in her bones, and it loves the way blood sings as it's spilt. No two songs are the same. The leash around its neck is tight, controlled, and the monster snarls and snaps at the hands holding it back. It wants to be free.   


It cannot be contained.   


Pala cannot be contained.   


_“Tell me, Marked_ _one,”_ purrs the genie, two years dead.   


She knows she can be killed, her heart can go still inside her chest, behind her ribs, but they have to touch her first. She can't be stopped. Her hands tear through flesh like it's cotton candy, and her hands are covered in music, so much music. It's never ending, one long hymn to the human condition.    


_ “Are you afraid of yourself?” _   


Dean's hands, steady and strong, calloused from work but gentle on her skin. He reminds her who she is, lips on Cain's brand, unafraid. She belongs to him, body and soul, and as his blood drips from her knife to her knuckles, she thinks his song is the sweetest yet.

The monster belongs to her. 

*

Pala screams his name, and Dean is awake a second later, sitting up beside his wife and pulling her tightly into his arms. They rock back and forth, her sobs wracking her entire frame as she screams into his bare chest, her tears burning into his skin.    


“Shh, shh. Baby, I'm here. It's alright, it's alright, Baby. You were dreaming, I'm right here.”    


“Dean,” she cries, clinging to him. “Dean, Dean, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-”    


“Baby, it's alright. Hey, hey, I'm here. It was a nightmare. I'm fine.”    


“I'm sorry, I'm sorry-”    


“Oh, Baby. It's alright.”   


He draws her fully into his lap, cradling her, one hand in her tangles, his cheek pressed against her forehead that is slick with sweat, still rocking them both, shushing her sweetly. It hasn't been this bad in a long time, not for months.    


“What did you dream?”    


She shakes her head against him, still apologizing, her sobs high and choked.   


“Breathe, Baby. Breathe for me. Come on.”   


And he breathes deeply himself, in for three and out for four, patient as he waits for her to mimic him, sobs quieting to hiccoughs and eventually silence falls over their room.    


She says, “I'm surprised Sam and Becky didn't come running.”   


Dean doesn't comment, just kisses the top of her head. Sam and Becky quit coming in here a long time ago, and there's every chance Pala's screams woke Robert. Likely, his brother is in the middle of a similar scene.    


“I'm sorry,” Pala repeats.   


“For what?”    


She disentangles herself and even in the dim light of their bedroom, Dean can see how swollen her eyes are, the tear tracks on her face. He lays his hand against her cheek, brushes his fingers through her hair.    


“Baby...” he says softly. “You can tell me anything.”    


She runs her hand from his hip up his torso, covers his heart with her palm. He doesn't push, knows she'll tell him when she's ready, and she shifts in his lap, lays her head on his shoulder.    


“After Trisha... When I was in surgery, I dreamed about that first crash. And I wondered, Is Dean's heart still beating? It was still the most important thing in the world to me. Your heartbeat.” She pulls away suddenly, looks down at her right arm and the hand over his heart moves to hide the Mark of Cain. “In my dreams, your heart stops. And I'm the one who stops it.”    


“That's not gonna happen,” Dean tells her firmly. “They're nightmares, Pala. It's the Mark. You've had it for so long, Baby. If you'll just give it back to me, I can-”    


“No, Dean. No.”    


He sighs. “It was worth a shot.”   


She smiles, sad but fond. “That's what you always say.”    


“That's because the offer's always there, Pala.”    


“I know.”   


She leans in, kisses him so slow and soft, and Dean lets his hands drift, from her hair to her thighs, turning her so she's straddling him, unbuttoning her shirt as he devours her mouth. Her breasts fill up his hands, nipples hardening at his touch, and he swallows her moan, presses his tongue against hers, licks her bottom lip, kisses his way across her cheek to her jaw, fingers trailing down her curves to her hips, sliding around to the small of her back. Pala tugs his pajama pants down, just far enough to free him, and she reaches between them, circling his girth with her fingers, working him with slow, sure strokes. He groans deep in his throat, finds her lips again, hands running across her back to her shoulder blades, bringing her closer to him, the warmth of her breasts against his chest.    


“Wanna taste you,” he says, kissing every bit of skin he can reach.    


“No, no, like this. Want you like this,” she says, takes his hand and place it to the heat between her thighs.    


He slips his fingers into her slick; fuck, she always gets so wet for him, so fast, and he circles her clit, drawing precious whimpers from her. He wants every one of them that he can get, but she's impatient with need, and pushes his fingers away, pushing up on her knees to line them up. Dean sucks her taste from his skin, kisses her and grips her hips, helps guide her onto his manhood, growling with pleasure as she sinks all the way to the base, completely sheathing him inside her.    


“Baby...”    


“Dean. Oh, Dean.”    


“That's it, Baby. I got you. I've always got you.” 

*

Dean slips out of bed around eight in the morning, casts one last glance back at Pala. Normally, she's up first, but after their lovemaking, she'd turned her alarm off. He's glad; she needs the rest. He wishes the Mark would allow her more sleep than it does.  
Unsurprisingly, Sam is already up and in his sweats, sitting in front of his laptop with a bottle of water. He looks over at Dean curiously.   


“Pala not coming today?”    


Dean shakes his head and heads straight for the coffee pot.    


“Not today, man.”    


“We heard her last night.”    


“I thought you might have. She wake up Robert?”    


“Yup.”   


Dean winces. “Sorry.”    


“Don't worry about it. Is she...”    


“No. But, we're handling it.”    


Sam nods in understanding. Dean waits impatiently for the coffee to brew, tapping his fingers on the countertop. Handling it may be a bit of an overstatement at this point. A year ago, they were handling it. Now, they're just hanging on. Dean has faith in them, in their bond, but he worries about the Mark's effect on her and wishes that Becky's search for a cure was yielding more results than it is.   


“You're usually back from your run by now,” Dean observes. “What kept you waiting?”   


“Think I found us a case. Demon nest about three hours from here. It's been about a week and a half since the last job, and I know that Pala... Well. She needs to work.”    


Dean nods in agreement. “You want to go ahead and leave today?”    


“Sounds good to me. Just wanna wait til Becky and Robert are up.”    


“No problem.” He gets two mugs out of the cupboard, pours a spoonful of sugar into Pala's, then grabs the coffee pot. “Leave around noon?”    


“Sure thing.”    


He walks back down the hall, bumps the bedroom door open with his hip. Pala stirs, lifts up her head.    


“Wh'time s'it?” she asks.   


“A little after eight. I brought you coffee, but if you want to go back to sleep, I'll just leave it for you.”   


Pala sits up, and Dean hands over her cup, sits next to her as she takes a careful sip. Her steel eyes are tired, but he knows all too well that she's beyond the ability to rest any more today. He's just grateful she went back to sleep at all after her nightmare last night.    


“Sam found us a case. It's a few hours away, so we're wanting to head out around twelve. Probably stay the night there, head back in the morning.”    


“Sounds good,” she says, takes another sip of coffee. Hesitantly, she adds, “I should probably bring the Blade.”    


“Pala...”    


If Dean had his way, they'd nuke that fucking thing and scatter the ashes for good measure. Every time she touches it, he loses her a little more to the brand on her skin. She's deadly enough without it, but with the First Blade in her hands, she's barely human. It could take her hours to come down from the adrenaline high she'll get. Dean remembers what it was like, dreams about the power he once held that is now his wife's burden.    


Touching something like that changes a person, little by little, and there's no part of Pala he's willing to sacrifice.    


“I know you don't like it, but that job in Alabama? It would have gone a lot smoother if I'd had it with me.”    


“We made it through,” Dean reminds her.    


“Yeah, but you almost didn't.”    


“I was fine, Baby.”    


This is a tired argument, and there's little heat left in it. Every job since then, they've fought over the Blade. She always wants to bring it, he always wants to leave it behind. The Yorshach, a beast with horns and impervious to all modern weapons, was eventually brought down by a spell. Pala's never stopped pointing out that she can kill anything with the First Blade, no guesswork needed.    


It doesn't change Dean's opinion.    


“What are we hunting?”    


“Looks like a demon nest,” he admits reluctantly.    


“So, an angel blade for you, the knife for Sam. What's that leave me with?”    


He sighs. “We can call Cas-”    


“Dean.”    


“Fine. Fine, bring it. But, Pala, let me hang on to it until we get to wherever the nest is, okay?”   


She nods, satisfied, almost smug, and Dean hates the look on her face. It doesn't belong to the woman he loves.    


It belongs to the Mark. 

*

Pala ends up in the backseat for a change, stretched out and half-asleep. Usually, she's up in front, but she'd offered up shotgun to Sam as soon as Dean got behind the wheel. It didn't click at first. Dean wanted her to get some extra shut-eye, then he realized.    


The First Blade is in the trunk, and she wants to be closer to it. Consciously or not.    


Dean stops at a gas station after an hour and half, pretends he needs to take a leak, and goes straight to the bathroom to splash water on his face. They're getting another angel blade from Cas, and that goddamn Blade is never coming anywhere near Pala after this job. He's not losing his wife to this thing. He's  _ not _ .   


Pala is standing at the counter when he steps out of the men's room, buying a Coke, and he waits for her at the door, holding it open for her when she walks his way. She smiles at him, all her this time, steel eyes clear and bright with affection.    


“Come sit by me,” he says.   


“Alright,” she agrees easily and slips her hand into his for a second, squeezing tightly.    


He manages not to sigh in relief. 

* 

They check into a hotel, unload their weapons, and Dean tries not to notice the way Pala looks longingly at the Blade when he lays it on the table. Sam already has his laptop up and running, searching for a route to the abandoned house the nest is holed up in.    


“You alright, Pala?”    


She looks up at him, then glances at Sam. Dean nods. Baby doesn't like to talk about the Mark in front of anyone except for him, and he can guess easily enough what she's not saying. That she wants the Blade in her hands, that it calls to her the same way it  used to call to him.    


“I'm fine,” she says.   


_ You're doing so good, Baby _ , he tells her silently.  _ I'm so proud of you. _   


She smiles, a slight blush rising on her cheek at the praise, and he tugs her in next to him by her belt loop, kisses her once, then wraps her in a hug.    


_ You're my Baby _ , Dean reminds her.  _ You don't belong to it. _   


“I know,” she whispers, and he tucks the top of her head neatly beneath his chin.    


“Got it figured, Sam?”    


“Yeah, I got it. Not sure how many of them there are. I'm guessing around eight.”    


“What are you boys going to do while I work?” Pala teases, and Dean just pulls her closer. 

*

Blood sings different when the body's already been dead for a while, but it's a melody all the same.   


The Blade is an instrument, turning slaughter into artwork, and the monster inside is free, let loose from its cage. Violence is its one true love.    


Power, dark and heavy, licks at her insides, spurring her onward, and she loves the fight, loves it in a way that makes the pain of impact feel like foreplay. Her knuckles bruise and split on teeth, her ribs bruise under fists, and she wants to laugh with the dizzying glory of all this anger finally set free.    


_ Killkillkill _   


_ Yesyesyes _   


The harmony still ringing in her ears as the last demon falls, Pala turns to look at Dean.   


The song dies, and the monster roars as its collar is cinched back on, tighter than ever before. And she knows, has suspected, the power she's let herself feel is only the beginning.   


_ You are mine _ , Dean thinks, possessive and frightened, not really aware of thinking it.    


_ Yes,  _ she thinks.  _ I will always be yours. _   


But, the darkest truth is, she belongs to the Mark now too.

*

Dean's got the Blade stashed in the room's safe, hoping that will be enough to dampen its pull on Pala at least temporarily. She's finishing up in the bathroom, taking the last shower, since she'd been the one who'd gone to Walgreen's to grab an ace bandage for Sam's newly sprained wrist. Where their original one has ended up is a mystery, but that's neither here nor there. Everyone is breathing and Sam's minor injury is the worst of the three of them. If that's not reason to celebrate, Dean doesn't know what is.    


The bathroom door opens, and Pala smiles at him almost serenely. She looks happier than she has in a while, more relaxed, and he grins at her.    


“You're in a good mood.”    


“I am. Ready to go?”    


She looks amazing, tight jeans and one of his button downs over a tank top. He's tempted to send Sam off to the bar so he can slowly take off everything she's wearing. Pala shakes her head, and he realizes she's heard him.    


“Maybe later. Job's done, time to blow off some steam.”    


“I'll drink to that.”    


“You'll drink to anything,” she accuses light-heartedly, and while Dean's worried her levity is largely due to time spent with the Blade, he can't help but enjoy the sight of his Baby looking carefree for the first time in years.    


“I'm right here,” says Sam. “Flirt later.”    


Dean rolls his eyes and grabs Pala's hand, following his brother out the door. Sam grabs the driver's seat before either of them can protest, so they end up in the back together, Pala's back against his chest, his arm around her waist. She laces their fingers together, relaxes into him, and for a second, everything is right in Dean Winchester's world.   


“It's not because of the Blade,” she says quietly, so Sam won't hear her over the music, replying to his unvoiced concern. “It's because of you. Because of us.”   


And he knows, in this moment, that he's never going to lose her. That so long as they have each other, they're going to be able to fight this curse back.    


“I love you, Dean.”    


“I love you too.”    


“God, get a room.” 

*

The bar could be any of the hundreds he's stepped foot in during his life, and he's tempted to hustle some pool, make a little extra cash so he can give their latest credit card a break. He has every intention of getting himself and Pala their own room once they get back to the hotel, and if he can do it in cash, all the better.    


But, she wants to play, and he figures that another sixty bucks is no big deal in the grand scheme of his non-existent credit rating.    


Even though Baby's pretty decent, Dean takes every chance he can to help her line up her shots, pressing them close, one hand on her hip as he murmurs tips into her ear. Their second game's tied, and neither of them are really playing to win, simply passing the time. Eventually, Dean sinks the eight ball, and Sam steps in to take Pala's place.    


He's off his game, though, watching her sit on a barstool at their table, peeling the label on her beer. She has yet to take those steel eyes off him, lips tilted upwards in a half-smile. She's so beautiful, and she's all his. His wife, his soulmate. His to keep.    


She nods, and he misses his next shot, thinking about all the ways he intends to claim her later tonight.    


“Dude, come on. At least make it a little difficult.”    


“What?” asks Dean.    


“Quit making googly eyes at your wife and play.”    


“Aw, c'mon, Sammy. I gotta let you win sometimes.”    


“Whatever, jerk.”    


“Bitch,” he replies, grinning back at his brother. Of all people, he knows Sam would never begrudge him this. But, they're brothers, and it wouldn't be normal if they didn't give each other some shit from time to time.    


Pala giggles and crooks her finger at Dean. Sam rolls his eyes and walks around the pool table to find his next shot. Dean steps in between Pala's knees, lays her hands on her thighs, smiles into her kiss.    


“You gonna drink that beer or just hold it all night?”    


“Someone's gotta drive your drunk ass home.”    


He laughs, glancing over at his beer that isn't even half gone yet. “Drunk ass, huh?'    


She laughs too, slides her arms around him, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. Dean notices the bowl of peanuts on the table, frowns for a second.    


“Hey, have you eaten yet today?”    


Pala's eyes widen for a second and she sits up a little straighter on her stool. “No, actually. I haven't.”    


“We'll leave after this game.”   


“What about Sam?”    


“Sam is more than ready to be away from the two of you. Jesus, it's like hanging out with teenagers.”    


“Don't be jealous, Sammy,” Pala says.    


“I'm not. What I am is nauseous.”    


“We're gonna get something to eat after this. You want to come with us, or are you too sick to eat?”    


“We'll get it to go so I don't have to spend an hour watching you reenact every chick flick you swore you hated.”   


“What can I say, little brother? I'm a changed man.”    


Sam sinks the eight ball three moves later, claps Dean on the back with a smile that betrays his feigned annoyance.    


“I'll meet you at the car.”    


Dean and Pala head outside, arms around each other's waists, and they stand on the pavement, waiting for Sam. His brother has a slight point; they do have a tendency to act like teenagers sometimes. Dean is completely focused on the taste of her mouth, kissing her greedily, her fingers in his hair as they make out in the parking lot like they've only now discovered it. Four years, he thinks. Four years completely wrapped up in one woman, with so many more to come.   


He's know that sound since childhood, and Dean breaks away from Pala to find a gun aimed at them both, ready to fire.   


Dean raises a hand in surrender, keeps his other on Pala, over the Mark, trying to remind her that not every situation requires violence. He's surprised when she stays perfectly still.    


“Hey, man,” he says. “Point that thing at me, alright?”    


“Your wallet. Hers too.”    


“Sure thing. No problem. But, I'm serious. Point that gun at me.”    


“Dean.”    


“It's okay, Baby,” he tells her, trying to soothe away the fear in her voice. He hasn't heard it in a long time, not in a situation like this.    


“Your wallet!”   


“Point it at me, and I'll give it to you. Do you want my watch too? It's worth about two hundred, you go to the right place.”    


“Yeah. Okay. Alright, fine.”    


Dean nods in approval at the barrel he's facing down. “Good. Now, my wallet's in my back pocket. I'm gonna move real slow.”    


“Okay.”    


He reaches behind him, knuckles bumping against the handle of his pistol, but he doesn't reach for it, simply takes his wallet out and holds it out to the man in front of him.    


“Hers too.”    


“Pala,” Dean says, squeezing her arm.  _ Leave your gun where it is _ .   


She nods, reaches into her front pocket for her money clip and hands it over.    


“Your watch.”    


“Okay,” says Dean calmly, letting go of Pala to unbuckle the strap. “You just keep that gun pointed at me.”    


“Just give me your fucking watch!”   


“Here it is. Now, just go, alright. We're not gonna follow you or anything.”    


The guy nods, and Pala reaches for Dean's hand, which he takes immediately, waiting for the gun to lower and the person holding it to walk away.    


There's a sound from the alley, from behind Pala. Loud as something falls, most likely a cat knocking over a stack of boxes that used to hold whiskey bottles.    


The guy jerks.    


The pistol moves.   


A shot fires.    


The door to the bar slams.    


Sam yells, “Dean!”   


Pala falls, and Dean drops with her.    


“Baby!” he yells, dark red staining her shirt, spreading outwards from her chest.    


Her heart. Did it hit her heart?   


Her face is filled with terror, and she tries to speak, but only blood comes out, no words, and Dean presses hard against the wound. His skin burns where her insides spill.    


“Baby, no. Just stay with me, okay? Somebody call an ambulance!” She's terrified, still trying to speak, blood dribbling down her chin. “Don't talk, don't talk. Just stay with me, okay? You're gonna be fine. You're okay, Baby. You hear me? Baby- Baby, stay with me, you're okay- Don't- I'm right here, Pala. I'm here, Baby. I'm here. You stay with me, stay with me.”    


Her eyes are wide and frightened, right up until the moment they're empty. 

*

The paramedics arrive, and Dean won't let them put her in a body bag. He helps them lay her on a stretcher. They let him ride with her in the back. Sam follows in the Impala.    


Dean sits beside her, hand still on her chest, on a wound that's no longer bleeding. He's staring at her face, eyes closed now, and he feels her skin begin to lose its warmth, but he doesn't let go. He pushes against her harder, trying to push his own heartbeat into her. He prays to every god he's ever heard of, but no one answers.    


Parked in the ambulance bay, Sam comes to stand behind him.    


“Dean,” he says.    


_“Dean.”_   


Her last word.   


“Dean,” says Sam. “They can't take her inside like this. We have to go.”   


_ Baby, can you hear me? _   


“The cops are gonna lead us to the station, take our statements.”    


“She can't sleep without me,” Dean says.   


“Dean...”    


_ Dean. _   


“Dean, we have to-”   


“Just give me a damn minute!” he exclaims, angry, louder than he meant to. Sam takes his hand off his shoulder. Dean hadn't realized his brother was touching him.   


He leans down, kisses her forehead. “I'm comin' back for you. I promised you I wasn't going to give up on you, and I’m not going to give up now.” 

*

A voice calls her back to the surface.    


The monster can't be killed.    


Her body knits itself back together, and she feels a fire start inside her. Her own song plays, but grows softer each second.    


The leash is gone. The cage is in pieces.    


“Mrs. Winchester,” says Crowley.    


Pala becomes. She opens her eyes and doesn't need a mirror to know with certainty what she is now.    


The world is full of songs she has yet to hear.

*

Dean stares at their bed. Pala's clothes are spilling out of her duffel.    


“We need to call Crowley,” he tells Sam.    


“She wouldn't want you to-”    


“I don't care!” Dean snaps. “I don't care! She still owes him a favor, and Crowley's not gonna want to lose out on that. He'll deal with us.”    


“Dean, Pala- Pala would want you to-”    


“Pala can't want anything right now, that's the point, Sam! Now, call Crowley, so we can figure out how to get my wife back!”   


Sam's phone rings, startling them both. Sam frowns at the screen, then looks at his brother.    


“Go get cleaned up, and then we'll talk about this.”    


Dean stalks into the bathroom, watches his Baby's life wash off his hands, tinging the water pink. His skin is stained, and he kicks the empty trashcan across the small room.    


_ My Baby is dead. She's gone.  _   


The trashcan wasn't empty. There's a sound as something falls out and slides across the floor. Dean looks down, walks across the tile and kneels down to look. Thin white plastic. He's only seen one of these up close once before, back when he was about seventeen and his girlfriend was a week late. That test had been negative.    


He falls back against the wall and finally cries, covers his face with a hand that smells like pennies. A sob is torn from his throat, and it's guttural, wounded.    


_ NO _ . His entire being screams it, but he can't form the word, his throat closed off tight. He can't breathe, and he doesn't want to.   


Pala isn't the only person he lost today.


	71. Suffer the Brand

**Suffer the Brand** **   
** ** _a love story of influence and devotion_ **

_ After the events of A New Day, Dean searches for his wife, Pala, as she cuts a path of destruction across the country. _

* * *

**Prelude**

* * *

It's easier than it should be to break into the security room of the hospital.    


Pala's body is gone, and Dean doesn't know how or why. She died just hours ago, and here he is, searching through footage, trying to find the moment when she disappeared. He's still reeling from her loss, from the loss of a child he had no idea she could even carry, that the two of them created together.    


"Dean."    


"What?"    


"There. Look."    


_ Pala _ .    


Her shirt is still bloody, but she's  _ alive _ , walking down the hall. The video is time stamped four hours ago. His wife is alive, and while there is no way the baby could have survived -  _ too small, too helpless  _ – Somehow, she has.    


And then, she looks up at the camera; her eyes flash pure black.    


_ No _ .   


She smiles, speaks, but he can't hear her voice, only read her lips.    


_ Goodbye, Dean. _


	72. Part 1; One

**Part One**

* * *

**One**

The house is calm, glass crunching beneath Pala’s boot as she goes from room to room. It never fails to amaze her the kind of stuff people, witches especially, like to keep in their homes. She has a large canvas bag that she grabbed from one of the bedrooms, and she’s been filling it with odds and ends, mostly jewelry, a few magickal items, and cash. She’ll sort through it all later. 

Pala knocks over a lamp, enjoys how loud the crash sounds in the perfect silence. It’s peaceful, a few birds chirping outside the windows, a car driving by slowly through the picturesque neighborhood. Just an ordinary suburban street.

There’s blood on the white walls, sinking into the thick carpet. For all she knows, it might even stain the slab, there’s so much of it. She smiles as she looks at her handiwork, grabs an apple from the fruit bowl and takes a large bite out of it, roots through the fridge and grabs the orange juice, takes a drink from the carton. Her hands leave red on everything she touches. She thinks it’s an improvement on the overall décor. 

The blade is tucked against the small of her back, blood drying against her skin, and it doesn’t bother her. It’s like being able to touch music. 

She glances from the kitchen into the living room where two of five witches lay dead on the floor, eyes wide and glassy, fear still on their lifeless faces. There are three others in the house, all with more holes in them than they need, and she takes great pleasure in the memory of their terror. 

It’s a flutter, the barest hint of anything, but Pala still feels it, and she puts the carton down on the table, lays both her hands over her belly. It’s only now becoming visible, and she stares, palms over the swell, waiting. Wondering. 

The feeling is so gentle it’s almost not there, but she felt it all the same. A kick. 

“You really are in there, aren’t you?” Pala mutters under her breath. 

*

Dean doesn’t know how much longer he can last before he loses his mind completely.

He doesn’t sleep for days at a time, resulting in fifteen hour crashes that he berates himself for, because he has to stay awake, has to push himself, find a way to get his Baby back. 

He didn’t want to believe what he saw on the screen. Knowing some demon possessed his wife made him sick, made his insides twist so tight that the pain was unbearable, and he lost the contents of his stomach to the trash can in the hospital’s security room. He tried to find her, searched for her for a week, determined to exorcise the filth inside her body, then summon Crowley and force him to bring her back to life. 

Pala called. 

And the truth was so. much. worse.

Pala hadn’t been possessed. She simply was - _ is, still is- _ a demon. 

Dean hasn’t seen her in four months. He’s still grieving over their child, lost in the blink of an eye to a gunshot, to an alley cat with a poor sense of timing and balance; when he sleeps, he dreams about a baby in Pala’s arms, but the scene changes to something dark and he sees red, and he loses them again. 

He can’t save his child - _ his son? his daughter?- _ but he can still save Baby. They almost managed to turn the King of Hell human; they can change Pala back. 

If they can find her. 

_ “I just called to say goodbye.” _

He’s on his fourth cup of coffee, one spoonful of sugar, reading police reports. He almost had her a couple months ago, thinks he caught a glimpse of her black hair as he rushed through a national park, but she’d been faster than him. Two weeks back, she’d left a note in her hotel room, where she had cruelly written the time beneath her signature. 

_ Catch me if you can, _ it read. 

He’d missed her by a half hour. 

“Dean?” 

Becky’s expression is cautious, but tender, Robert settled on her hip, reaching out for him, and Dean holds out his arms and settles the toddler into his lap. 

“Dee,” Robert croons happily, snuggling into his uncle’s embrace. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” says Becky. “He wanted you, and-“ 

“Don’t apologize. Where’s Sam?” 

“Still asleep.” 

Dean nods, shifts his eyes back to the computer screen. Pala’s been good about staying off the radar; most of the close calls they’ve had have been due to guesswork, trusting their knowledge of her to guide them in the right direction. She’s a demon, but she’s still  _ Pala _ , and Dean refuses to believe that every part of the woman he loves is gone. Thus far, she hasn’t killed anyone human, no one innocent. 

He’s interviewed survivors of brutal attacks. He has seen their broken bones, their eyes so swollen they couldn’t see. One man’s jaw had been wired shut; he’d had to write his answers to their questions, handwriting awkward and blocky like a child’s as he gripped a pen with a cast that went past his elbow. Dean has looked directly at them, never casting his glance away, as much as he wants to. He forces himself to see her in their wounds, his failure in keeping her safe, in finding a cure to the Mark before it took her away from him. 

She doesn’t kill, but she hurts. She snaps bones and cracks teeth on violent whims. A woman with a broken leg cut in line at a gas station. And it’s Dean’s fault, every single stitch and every shattered bone, because he’s never been good at saving the ones he loves. He’s always a day late and a dollar short. 

Dean shifts, rubs Robert’s back and scans the screen in front of him, trying to determine if the murder in this report could be tied to Pala. For all intents and purposes, this was a home burglary gone wrong, but if the guy was a meatsuit…

“Dean.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Robert wants to spend some time with his uncle, not with whatever police reports Sam’s managed to hack into.” 

Dean looks up, and his eyes swim a little. Her expression is kind, but he’s never liked being on the receiving end of pity. He’s not that kind of man. Put a problem in front of him, and he’ll beat his way to the end of it, plain and simple. 

“Becky, I’m sorry-“ 

“I don’t need your apologies. I need you to spend some time with your nephew.” Her tone is firm, but she sits down next to him and pulls his computer in front of her. “I’ll work on this,” she says gently. “Watch some cartoons with Robert. I left my tablet on your bed.” 

Dean can’t help but smile at her, the sister he never had, and Becky lays a soft hand on his arm, squeezes carefully. He doesn’t remember the last time he slept, and if the way Robert is sinking into him is any indication, it’s almost the little man’s naptime. He has to hand it to the small blonde- She’s clever. 

“Have Sam come get us when he wakes up, okay?” he asks, bargaining with her. 

She nods, not entirely pleased, but relenting. “Okay.” 

Dean swings his feet out from under the table and stands up, settling Robert across his chest, the boy’s head fitting into the curve of his shoulder. 

“What do you say we watch some Animaniacs, kiddo?” 

“Yak,” says Robert. 

“Yup, that’s right.” 

He carries Robert down the hall, can feel his fatigue in the way his nephew grows heavy in his arms, and he’s grateful when he gets both of them in bed and props up Becky’s tablet across his thighs. The little boy cuddles up under his arm, knees pressing into Dean’s side. He’ll be tall, just like his father. 

Robert looks across Dean, to the bedside table, points. 

“Pa,” he says clearly. 

There’s a picture of Pala next to the lamp. Dean nods, blinking away tears. 

“That’s your Aunt Pala. Smart kid, aren’t you? Take after your Uncle Dean.” 

Pleased by Dean’s tone, Robert turns his attention to the screen, excitedly garbling along with the theme song. He makes it through an episode before his eyes start to droop, and Dean can feel his own doing the same. He turns his head to look at the photo, stretches out a hand to trace the curve of her cheek against the glass. Her smile is beautiful. 

It follows him into his dreams. 

Temporarily.

*

She hotwires a new Camaro in the hotel parking lot and heads out of town, windows rolled down, music up as loud as it will go. The stereo system is amazing; she can feel the vibrations through the leather seats, and she sings along with the radio, unable to hear her own voice. 

Pala takes the back roads, partly because she enjoys the view, mostly because it’s harder to track her movements this way. She finds Dean’s continued search of her amusing, and it’s even a little exciting sometimes. He’d almost caught up to her the month before last when she stopped to sneak a glimpse of him before running off, hiding at the very top of a remarkably tall tree, smiling down on the crown of his head. Sometimes, she leaves him notes. In her hotel rooms, in the cars she steals. 

That has to stop. She’s getting slower now, and as this thing keeps growing, that’s only going to get worse. There’s no way she could scale an oak tree now, not with the way her stomach is starting to impede her movements. This thing with Dean is like a game. Pala is determined to win, but she can’t do that if she keeps taking risks just for fun. She sighs, lays a hand across her belly. 

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” she says to the bump.

The first month or so, she didn’t think it had survived her death, and she muses that it’s a good thing that she’s not much of a drinker. She spends plenty of time in bars, dancing and playing pool, starting all out brawls just for the hell of it. There’s something incredibly  _ satisfying _ about being able to cause utter chaos with so little effort. The sounds and smells of senseless violence energize her, and the atmosphere itself is intoxicating. 

Whiskey could never burn as good as split knuckles that heal as fast as they break. 

She’s aggravated, rolling her eyes when she feels a soft nudge against her palm. Now that it’s moving, she has to figure out what she’s going to do. Pala has absolutely no interest in keeping it around, but she finds herself unwilling to terminate or hand it off to strangers. That leaves hanging onto it herself or involving Dean; neither are options she’s particularly thrilled about.

Her cell phone rings, and she glances down, half-expecting it to be her husband, even though he doesn’t have this number. It’s Crowley. Of course. 

Reluctantly, she turns down the volume and answers. 

“Crowley.” 

“Mrs. Winchester, it’s good to hear your voice.”

“I wish I could say the same. What do you want?” 

“I saw an interesting story on the news- They’re calling it a massacre, think Satanic worship may be involved. I don’t suppose you know anything about that?” 

Pala grins. “I might know a couple things. Wanna know which one was a screamer?” 

“Charming,” says Crowley, and it unnerves her that he actually sounds fond. 

“There a point to this conversation?” 

“There is, actually. I’d like to have a face to face. It’s been a while since I saw my favorite Knight of Hell.” 

“I’m the only Knight of Hell, Crowley.” 

“Rather my point, Mrs. Winchester,” he says patiently. “Let’s meet, have dinner. Have a conversation about our future together.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ll let you know where I stop, how’s that?” 

“Sounds wonderful. I look forward to it.” 

Pala hangs up and tosses the phone into the passenger seat, presses hard on the accelerator, excitement rising in her chest as the needle slips above ninety-five. She sticks her hand out the window, enjoys the force of the wind against her hand, and she pushes on the gas, watching her speed climb. Ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight…

Her eyes flick to the rearview mirror, to the backseat, and she tries to imagine switching a carseat from Camaro to Mustang to Chevelle. Not a chance. She doesn’t have a plan, not yet, but she will. It’s not going to ride around with her. 

She starts laughing when she hears the siren, a cop car flashing blue and red behind her. She’s a little impressed he managed to get this close. Slamming on the brakes is temping, but instead she just lets her foot off the gas and eases to a stop, not bothering to pull over on the shoulder. Her feet hit the pavement before the cop steps out of his car, and she leans against the door frame, arms crossed over her chest, highlighting the swell of pregnancy. 

There’s an anticipation in her muscles, humming through her veins, and she feels the Mark, warm from the sun’s glow, almost pulse with need. She can see the cop through the windshield, radio in his hand, and she figures he’s giving his location. They’re at least thirty minutes from the nearest station, out in the middle of nowhere, and she’s surprised he’s here at all. Looks like he drew the short straw at work. 

He steps out of the squad car, standing behind the door, and she sees it in his posture, the second he notices her stomach, the way he relaxes. He doesn’t view her as a threat. She tries not to smile at his mistake, keeps her face in a neutral expression, looking at him with careful eyes. He’s taller than her, but not by much, not as tall as Dean, with a slender build. 

“Ma’am, is there an emergency situation?” 

_ They make it too easy,  _ she thinks. 

“Yes, Officer.” 

Pala has felt enough pain that it’s not hard to fake a grimace, and she presses a hand hard against her side, waiting to see if this will be enough to make him move from his safe position. It is. He immediately steps out from behind the door and walks toward her. She sees the glint from his wedding ring, and she would bet money that he’s a father. 

“What’s wrong, ma’am?” 

“I’m scared,” she lies, purposefully remaining vague, pitching her voice high and thin. 

“I need to know what’s wrong.” 

“It hurts. I need a hospital.” 

He’s just a couple feet away, and she ducks her head, lets her hair fall into her face. Pala hisses, and it sounds like she’s in pain, but what she feels is impatience, tense with the need to attack. She wants to know what his song sounds like. 

She looks through the curtain of curls, sees the kindness, the concern in his eyes. He’s worried for her, analyzing the situation. He’s not afraid at all. 

“Come on,” he says, and his hand touches her elbow, gentle, careful.  _ Reassuring _ . “I’ll drive you to the hospital.” 

“Thank you,” says Pala. 

Then she looks up, eyes black and bright and fearsome, and she takes great delight in the way his eyes go wide in shock, hand falling away from her, reaching for his pistol, but she’s faster, so much faster than him, and she has his wrist locked in her grip before he can even blink. 

“But you’re the one who’s going to need the hospital, Officer.” 

She breaks his wrist easy, feels the snap, his sharp cry a beautiful note that sends a shock of pleasure through her chest. Her fist balls up, and she swings into it, forcing herself not to hit as hard as she can, breaking his nose, blood spurting in a gorgeous way, spilling down over his lips onto his chin. And she can  _ hear _ it, his song, all dark tones and percussion, and she wants  _ more _ . 

She breaks the arm above the already broken wrist, grabs his short hair and jerks his head down, slams her knee into his ribs, once, twice, lets him drop, landing hard on his elbow. He’s groaning in pain, struggling to breathe, gasping harshly, and Pala laughs, straddles his hips, digs her nails into his throat, dragging them in deep, down to his sternum, blood on her fingertips. She grabs his baton, brings it down onto his clavicle, makes him scream, does it again to hear the sound again, the shriek a lovely addition to the music that is all his own. 

Head wounds bleed in a way that is deafening, and she welcomes the cacophony, the rising crescendo, and she has the great urge to tear into his flesh with her teeth, to taste sound and copper and sweat and terror on her tongue, and she leans in close, lets out a breath over his cheek. He raises his one good arm in an attempt to defend himself, and he is so  _ courageous _ , and she decides that moment, his song is a battle hymn. 

One of defeat. 

She brings the baton down into the bend of his elbow, forcing it hard onto the pavement, and he cries out as the delicate bones shatter into pieces. Pala leans back on her heels, wipes her thumb across his chin then sucks it into her mouth, tongue slipping beneath her nail to get every bit she can. 

She can taste every quarter note of his life. 

On her feet once again, she steps onto his calf, not enough to break, just enough to hurt, and walks back to his car, grabs his radio. 

“I don’t know the proper procedure for this,” she says, light and amused. “However. Officer down. Mile marker one-oh-seven, FM ten sixty-four.” 

Pala gets back in the Camaro, holds the brake as she guns it to see the smoke in her rearview, then tears off down the highway, turns the music back up and sings along, the measures of the song left behind still ringing in her ears.


	73. Two

Reluctantly, Pala ditches the Camaro at the next truck stop she comes to, changing clothes in the exterior bathroom and trashing the ones covered in blood, washes her skin clean. She picks out a Toyota Camry, wrinkling her nose at the car seat in the back, the random amounts of crap on the passenger side. As soon as she crosses the state line, she’s going to find something that isn’t a matchbox on wheels. 

A ding signals a text message, and with one hand on the steering wheel, she searches under a stranger’s jacket to find her phone. It’s from Crowley. 

**There’s a half-dead officer on the news. I assume this is your work.**

She chuckles darkly.  _ Good news travels fast _ , she muses, then tosses her phone aside. 

Regret isn’t something she feels anymore, but she admits that it may have been poor decision making on her part to attack him when she’s trying to keep a low profile. The best thing for her to do right now is get as far away from the scene as possible and stay under the radar, which means sticking to the speed limit. It’s a lot easier to do that in a crappy compact, and she applauds herself on her choice, even if it’s boring. 

The gas gauge is already almost to empty, which Pala finds annoying, and she stops long before she wants to, fills up quickly, grabs a bottle of water and an orange from inside, glaring down at her stomach. Cravings. She hasn’t been hungry all that often, not really, but she can eat, if she wants to, and apparently, the thing inside her wants an orange. 

And ice cream. Pala sighs as she pulls out the pint from the freezer. This thing loves sweets as much as its father. 

Standing in line, she has to clamp down on her desire to push everyone out of the way. She’s caused enough damage for now, and another fight isn’t what she needs. The situation has to be resolved, and she wonders how she’s going to get Dean’s kid to him without getting taken. Becky could barely walk after Robert was born, and even with her healing abilities, she’s bound to be too slow after birth to defend herself against both Winchester brothers. 

_ This is a goddamn mess _ , she thinks, rubbing her stomach idly. 

The woman behind the counter smiles at her. “When are you due?” 

Pala narrows her eyes. “Excuse me?” 

“Your baby. When is it due?” 

“I don’t know. Few months, I guess.” Pala studies the confusion on the woman’s face, then travels backwards in her head. “I’m about five months along. I think.” 

“Well…. What did the doctor say?” 

“What doctor?” 

The cashier stops, even though the total is already on the screen, staring at Pala completely dumbfounded, then concerned. 

“I know it’s not my place, but is everything okay? Do you… Do you need some help?” 

Pala smiles at her, at the stupidity of the kindness she’s being shown. Of everyone on the planet, she needs the least help of anyone. Easy targets, every last person out there. 

“Not at all. Thanks, have a nice day.” 

Pala drops some cash on the counter, not bothering to wait for her change, then walks out to the car and grabs her phone. She’s tired of driving, which is something she never thought she’d feel, but she wants off the road. There was an advertisement a few miles back for some cabins, and that sounds like a good place to be, even though she’s only a couple hours away from the blood stained patch of asphalt and Officer Nice Guy. 

She texts Crowley with that information, tells him to meet her there and get her a cabin, fairly certain he’s not going to like her making demands. She opens the pint of ice cream and sinks the plastic spoon into the chocolate, glancing sideways at the cashier who’s still watching her. Pala thinks maybe she should go see a doctor, just so she can avoid awkwardness like that for the rest of this. On the other hand, she sort of enjoys the upset visible on the woman’s soft face. 

**Cabin 8** . 

She turns the ignition, sets her phone between her thighs, trying to situate spoon and ice cream and keep a hand on the wheel. The cashier exits the front door, and Pala rolls down her window in expectation. There’s a piece of paper with the name of a church written on it and a phone number; she takes it from the woman interestedly. 

“It’s not my place, but I thought maybe… Maybe you need it.” 

Pala smiles at her genuinely. This woman’s song would be high and sweet, and she decides she’ll come back to hear it. After. 

“Thank you very much. But,” she says, lets her eyes turn black, grinning at the sharp gasp of fear and immediate recoil, “they don’t like my kind in churches.” 

The window rolls back up, and Pala turns onto the road. 

*

Dean is irritated when he wakes up alone and finds it’s been a solid six hours since he first passed out with his nephew. Normal sleep schedules are a thing of the past, and he knows his brother is trying to be kind, trying to let him rest when it’s possible, but he doesn’t need rest nearly as much as he needs to find his wife. He sits up, places his feet on the cold tile, runs a hand over his face. He needs to shave. 

Pala’s face smiles at him from the desk, perfectly preserved, and Dean reaches out for it, resting it in his lap, thumb stroking the line of her jaw, her mouth. He wonders if she still tastes like coffee and sweetness. 

_ “She licked the blood off my face. She hummed, thanked me for my song. What does that even mean?” _

Will she taste like blood now? 

Dean shudders, squeezes his eyes shut against the tears. He can’t let himself believe that. She’s not completely lost to him. This isn’t her fault, none of this is her fault. It’s his. He’s the one who changed her back, impossibly five years old, soul still branded and connected to hers- He cursed her as surely as Cain cursed him. 

He’s working against the clock, and sleep is his enemy. He has to get to her before she crosses a line she can’t come back from, before she kills someone who isn’t a witch or a meatsuit. 

Dean gets up, walks into the kitchen to find Sam at his laptop with a frown on his face, an all too common sight. How many times will his brother have to pay for Dean’s mistakes? Sam’s not sleeping any more regularly than he is, and his irritation burns out, replaced again by self-hatred and exhaustion. The three of them are working all hours of the day. For the last four months, there hasn’t been one single moment where there wasn’t at least one of them searching for her or for a way to get that Mark off her once they do.

He clears his throat, reaches into the fridge for a beer; the coffee pot is empty, and he’s too tired to make another right now. 

“Find something?” he asks, voice like gravel. 

“Yeah. I did. Nothing good, but- Well.” 

“What is it? Do you know where she is?” 

“I know where she was a few hours ago. Come here.” 

Sam looks like whatever it is he’s about to show him isn’t pleasant, and Dean steels himself for the worst, though he doesn’t even know what that could be at this point or what scale he should judge better or worse by. He sits next to his brother, avoids the screen and instead keeps his eyes on Sam’s face for a moment, worried by the stress he sees there. 

“There’s an article about a mass murder,” Sam begins. “Possible Satanic worship, which means-“ 

“Pala killed another coven,” Dean says heavily. “How many?” 

“Five women.” 

His breath comes out harsh, like there’s a boulder on his chest pushing out all the air. Witches skirt the line of human and innocent, and even before Pala turned, she was prejudiced against them, more likely to shoot first than destroy an altar. It was the Mark’s influence, forcing her into extremes, and that’s what Dean tells himself, because the woman he fell in love with wasn’t cruel. 

“Did they… Were they…” 

“You don’t wanna know, man.” 

“No. I don’t. But I have to.” 

Sam waits a moment, weighing his words. “We’d have to go in person, but reading between the lines… They weren’t… They weren’t innocent. Human. But not… Pala’s not.” He sighs. “She hasn’t escalated. Not exactly.” 

“So, where was this coven? Pala didn’t stick around, but maybe we can figure out which way she went.” 

“I know where she went.” 

“How?” 

“Few hours north of where that coven was, a cop was beaten in a routine traffic stop on a back road. The dash cam caught everything, and the footage was leaked somehow. It’s all over the news. It’s grainy, not great quality, but…” 

“It’s her. You saw her.” 

“I did.” 

“Show me.” 

“Dean, I don’t-“ 

“Fucking show me, man. I have to- I have to see her.” 

“Dean, that’s not her. That’s- It’s not-“ 

“Just do it. Now.” 

Dean feels his heart stop when she steps out of the car. She is so beautiful, even with the bad video, even though it’s kind of blurry and out of focus. Her voice comes through, and it’s filled with pain. Dean wants to protect her at the sound, instinctive and immediate, but then… 

She is brutal. Fast and deadly, and the sound of her laugh makes his stomach roll. 

He hadn’t wanted to believe that his wife was lost. 

“Dean? She called him an ambulance. She didn’t kill him.” 

“Don’t.” 

_ We made the King of Hell cry. Had him wanting forgiveness. It’s not too late. It’s not. Not for Baby; we’ll find a way, we’ll find her. We’ll bring her home. _

He’s not sure he believes that. He’s seen the end result time and time again, known what she was doing, but to see her in action, to see her manipulate someone trying to help her, to hear her laugh at the screams of her victim… 

He vomits onto the floor, his brother’s hand between his shoulder blades. 

“We haven’t lost her, Dean. I think I’ve got a pretty good idea of the area she’s in, we’ll head out now, be there by tomorrow morning at the latest. I’m gonna figure out where she dropped that Camaro, I’ve got the plate number.” 

“Sam,” Dean says, spitting bile, nose burning. “How’s she gonna live with that memory?” 

“With you,” Sam replies.

*

Dean struggles into a fast shower, not sure when the last time he took one was, then packs a bag, gives his nephew a hug and Becky a kiss on the cheek, joins his brother in the Impala. It’s a long drive, the sun already beginning to set when they leave. Some part of him admits that he needs more sleep, but he powers through with gas station coffee, too nauseous to eat, letting Sam make calls and figure out where the Camaro in the dash cam video is located now and which way he thinks Pala probably took off from there. 

Driving is second nature to him; he’s spent more time behind a wheel than he has anywhere else, and this means it’s far too easy for his mind to drift. He makes himself focus, not on the two lanes in front of him, but on memories of Baby, of who she really is, beneath the Mark, of the woman she was, the woman he loves. 

He feels guilty when he smiles, just the slightest bit, thinking about her curled up with a book, the first couple of weeks she was human, how she used to be a little unsteady on her feet, still learning what it meant to be a person instead of a car. The first time he slipped his hand into hers, the first time he invited her into bed with him, how it felt to hold her in his arms all night.

But the first time reminds him of the last. Of how ignorant he’d been to believe he could save her from the darkness inside her, the same evil he had felt in his own limbs, the pure unadulterated power and possibility. 

He’s never been enough, but he thought he could be, this time. Pala made him believe in himself; she believed in him, always put her faith in him, and he didn’t deserve it. He failed her. 

Not at first, though. Her nightmares were under control, and she’d always relaxed under his touch, at his reassurances, his words easing her sobs into breaths, his hands steadying her own. Dean marvels at that, the way he could turn her screams of terror into ones of passion. He tried everything he knew, let Becky handle the research on the Mark and kept his attention on Baby. 

Yet, here they are. Here he is, asking himself,  _ What more could I have done? _

The highway has no answer for him, only more pavement. 

*

To her surprise, Crowley isn’t at the cabin when she arrives, but she takes advantage of that fact and steps into a shower, ignoring the changes in her body. Her breasts are getting larger, and she thinks she should buy some lower cut shirts to show that off; it’s about the only good thing she’s getting out of this. Pala takes her time under the water, shampooing her hair twice, running the soap over her skin, wishes she could ignore the ache between her thighs. It’s been a long time since she had any type of physical contact that wasn’t violent. Turning into a demon hasn’t changed everything; when it comes to sex, Dean’s still the only one she wants, but she doubts her husband is going to be interested in a no strings attached offer. 

It’d be easier, if she didn’t have this thing in her belly, constantly reminding her of him. Even then, Pala doubts she’d seek out anyone else, which bothers her, makes her question things she’d rather not consider. 

Can she still have a soulmate when her soul is this twisted? 

She towels off, turns her head when she hears the sound of ice dropping into a glass. Looks like Crowley decided to drop by after all. She steps into her pajamas, walks silently on bare feet into the common room where he’s standing at the kitchen counter, a drink in his hand.

“Mrs. Winchester.” 

“Crowley. Thanks for the cabin.” 

“What’s a little hospitality between friends?” 

She laughs, seats herself in a barstool. “I didn’t realize we were friends.” 

“Friends, business partners. It’s time we discuss your… situation.” 

“What situation?” 

Crowley cocks his head, looks at her seriously. “You’re in the family way, Mrs. Winchester, and as you’re far enough along that you’re not going to be able to hide it much longer, I’m going to assume you’ve decide to keep it.” 

“Well,” she says, leaning against the back of the stool, lacing her fingers over the bump. “You know what they say about assumptions.” 

“You know that video’s been leaked, don’t you? Your husband and his brother are going to see it.” 

“Can you tell I’m knocked up?” 

“Not unless you’re looking for it. I don’t think Dean knows he’s going to be a father just now. Which leads me to the question- Are you going to tell him?” 

She sighs heavily. Of all the people to have the family planning conversation with, Crowley wouldn’t be the one she expected, but in a strange way, it makes sense. Not like she has anyone else to turn to. 

“I haven’t decided yet.” 

“You’re going to have to make that decision pretty soon. You’re not exactly being subtle, Pala. Attacking cops, killing women-“ 

“Killing  _ witches _ ,” she corrects. 

“Yes, because the evening news believes in the real power of magick. You know what I mean. We’re going to have to figure out what you’re planning to do with the newest member of the Winchester family.” 

“I’m not giving the thing away,” she says firmly. “But I don’t want to keep it with me. I don’t know how to get it to Dean without seeing him myself, and that’s going to be a problem.” 

“Why not keep it? I have a whole staff to watch the little tyke while Mommy’s off raising hell.” 

Pala frowns, leans forward, elbows on the bar. “Why are you so interested?’ 

“You’re the only Knight of Hell, and you owe me a favor. Call it an investment in our future together, which I’m hoping will be long and prosperous. Come on, I want to show you something.” 

She eases herself off the stool and follows him down the short hall to the bedroom. He opens the door and walks ahead, steps off to the side so she can see what he’s done. 

On the bed, there’s quite the display. A few balloons, both blue and pink, and a large basket, filled with diapers, onesies, and all kinds of baby shit. Toys, teething rings, bottles, formula. There’s a car seat and a diaper bag. Pala just stares. 

“I’m going to be an uncle,” says Crowley. “I thought it only appropriate that I contribute. Single moms have it hard, so I hear. I’d like to offer you steady employment.” 

“I don’t need a job,” she says automatically, still processing what she’s looking at. Is that a… That’s a fucking breast pump. “I’ve been managing just fine on my own.” 

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that. But you’re not going to be on your own much longer. You’ll need support, and I am here to be that support. I’ll hire you a round the clock nanny, some old broad from England, if you want, the kind that are used to absent parents that work a lot. Only have to see it when you want to.” 

“Who says I’m going to want to see it at all?” 

“You don’t want to give it away. That limits your options.” 

Pala moves next to the bed, picks up a small stuffed bear, reminded of Dean’s Mom Bear that still sits on the desk in their bedroom. She considers Crowley’s offer. It does solve her immediate problem. 

There’s a nudge from inside her. Jesus, this thing just won’t stop now that it’s started. She lays her palm over the spot, and something pushes back against her hand. A call and an answer. 

“I can provide the best of everything,” says Crowley. “The child will never want for anything, and when it grows up…” 

“You think it’s some kind of demon,” Pala says with sudden understanding. 

“Even if it’s not, that doesn’t mean the baby can’t be valuable. If it’s important to my Knight, it’s important to me. I’m trying to solve your problem, given the things you want and don’t want. Really, this is the best solution.” 

Another little push.

“Shut up,” Pala mutters under her breath. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I wasn’t talking to you.” 

Crowley pulls back a little, looking at her in surprise. “You can hear it?” 

“Don’t be stupid. It kicks, that’s all.” 

She throws the teddy bear back on the ground, walks back into the living room, where she dropped her bag next to the door. She shoves her feet into her boots, rummages through her duffel bag, and walks back into the bedroom, flicks open her zippo and drops it onto the bed, the flames catching easily. 

“That’s what I think about your offer,” she says. “The Winchesters take care of their own.” 

Crowley rolls his eyes. “Are you still a Winchester? Because last time I checked, your family wasn’t so fond of people with eyes like yours.” 

“Fuck you, Crowley,” she says, turning on her heel. “And let that shit burn.” 


	74. Three

Pala knows she should be getting far away from the burning cabin, but she’s tired and not wanting to drive any further tonight. None of the hotels nearby have any vacancies, so she pulls into a quiet neighborhood, picks a house she likes and pulls into the driveway. The living room light is on, so she rings the doorbell instead of picking the lock. 

A middle aged man answers, frowning at her in the porch light, and she offers him a bright smile that does nothing to charm him. 

“Hi. Can I borrow your phone?” 

“No,” he says and begins to close the door, but she puts her foot against the jamb and when he pushes against her boot, she growls at him. 

“Wrong choice.” 

She slams the door open and into his face, knocking him backwards a few steps, and hurriedly steps inside before any of the neighbors notice her presence. The door closes with a solid  _ thunk _ behind her. The man is spitting curses at her, hand pressed to his forehead, the other out in front of him to try to keep her away from him. 

Pala rolls her eyes, kicks his knees out from under him, then puts her boot to his throat, forcing him down against the hardwood, his fingers yanking at her laces. 

“You have two choices,” she says to him, shifting her weight from her back foot to the one cutting of his air supply. “You can die right here, and I’ll leave you for the cops to find a few weeks from now.  _ Or _ , I can just lock you in a closet, and I’ll call the cops tomorrow after I leave. Which one’s it gonna be?” 

He gurgles at her, and she sighs, lifts her boot off his windpipe, watching as he curls onto his side and wheezes as oxygen floods his system. 

“Look, I’m knocked up, and I don’t want to have to drag you down the hall, so…” She reaches beneath her shirt and pulls out the First Blade. “If you just wanna pick a closet and crawl there, that’d be great.” 

He gets to his knees and does exactly that, leading her out of the entry way and to the linen closet off the living room, where Dr. Sexy is playing on a sixty inch flatscreen. This just isn’t her night; last thing she needs is yet another reminder of her husband. 

“Take off your belt and put your hands behind your back.” 

She ties his hands a little tighter than is strictly necessary, heads off to find a gag so she doesn’t have to listen to him complain until morning. Grabbing the first dishtowel she can find, she heads back into the living room, finds her hostage on his feet, trying to grab his phone off the couch. 

“Oh, come  _ on _ ,” she says. “You can’t be this stupid.” 

His eyes go wide with fear, and she closes the distance between them, knocking her elbow into his nose, feels the crunch, his blood hot against her skin. She swallows hard at the sudden sound of music, hand twitching around the hilt of her weapon. Licking her lips, she grins at him, pushing him back into the cushions, straddling him, lets the edge of the Blade nick the bruises on his throat. Blood comes to the surface immediately, and she leans in to lick it away, the taste exploding over her tongue like the most perfect symphony of ignorance. 

“Oh,” she moans, pulling away to look into his terrified, bloody face. “You really are that stupid, you beautiful idiot.” 

Pala cuts a line from the hollow of his throat, through his shirt to his navel, music swelling around her. 

“There’s no one coming for you,” she coos at him. “Just me and you.” 

She presses harder with the Blade, blood spilling easier from the soft flesh of his stomach, and she watches as it runs down the round hill, collecting in the stretch marks, in his belly button, seeping into his khakis. What will the final note sound like? How will it taste if she rips it from him with her teeth? 

It’s a line she hasn’t crossed yet, for whatever reason. She doesn’t kill humans. 

But this guy- Living alone with a middle aged crisis convertible in the driveway, a song of entitlement and self-importance in his soul, he might be her one exception. 

And there it is again, that weird almost-flutter from inside her, something like a protest.

“You’re definitely your father’s child,” Pala tells it in annoyance. “Don’t know when to quit.” 

“Please,” the man says. “Please don’t kill me.” 

She tilts her head, hair falling over her shoulder, and she lifts her hand, presses the flat of the Blade against his cheek. 

“Kids today,” she says, glancing down at the bump with distaste. “Always talking back to their elders.” 

*

The king size bed is comfortable, morning light streaming in through the curtains, and Pala stretches out spread eagle, enjoying the slight burn in her muscles. She’s tempted to stay here for a day or two and hide out from everything. The fridge is mostly empty except for take-out boxes, but there’s plenty of delivery menus and a wallet full of credit cards. 

Her bladder forces her out of bed, and as she’s washing her hands, she looks at her reflection in the mirror. As much as she doesn’t want to leave, she has to figure out how what to do about her situation. Maybe she should call Crowley, tell him she’s reconsidered the nanny idea. It’s a good offer, and she’s not sure why she rejected it. 

Except that…

This thing belongs to Dean. Which shouldn’t matter, because he doesn’t even know it exists, and he definitely doesn’t approve of the lifestyle she has no intention of giving up. 

But, she’s not willing to throw it out like it’s trash, not when there’s someone out there that would want it, someone it’s connected to. 

She shuts the water off and heads back into the bedroom to get dressed. That’s enough introspection for the morning. What does it matter why she doesn’t want to accept Crowley’s offer? She doesn’t, so she won’t. There’s still plenty of time for her to get a plan together. Winchesters aren’t great at long term plans anyway. Better for her to just roll with things until they fall into place. 

The couch is covered in blood, and she smiles at the sight, then opens the door to the linen closet. The man groans at the sudden intrusion of light, looking up at her through swollen eyes. 

“Thank you for your hospitality,” she says. “I’m going to head out, but I’ll let someone know you’re here when I’m further away.” 

He whimpers, trying to speak through his gag, so she kneels down, amused by his flinch when she removes the cloth from his mouth. 

“What is it?” 

“Don’t leave me here like this. I won’t call anybody, I won’t-“ 

“Yes, you will. You’d be crazy not to. I let you go now, the cops will be on me before I get out of town, and I just can’t have that.” 

“Please, I need a hospital.” 

“I didn’t hurt you that bad,” she says calmly. “You’ll survive. Even if I didn’t call for two days, you’d be okay. Now, come on, open up.” 

“No, don’t do this to me, don’t, oomf!” 

She shuts the door behind him, wedges a chair back under it. She’s hungry again, and there’s a gas station not too far from here that sells her favorite kind of breakfast, so it’ll be worth the detour. Chain stores are a blessing.

*

There’s not a lot for Dean to go off of once they find the truck stop where the Camaro was dropped. There was a Toyota stolen from here yesterday afternoon, and he can’t help but grin a little at the idea of Baby behind the wheel of that matchbox. It’s a good choice, he admits, since she needs to stay off the radar. She’s smart. 

He can’t be sure of which way she went from there or how far she got, but he trusts his instincts and heads north. It’s not the fastest way out of the area, but he passes up the road to the interstate. Thus far, she’s been keeping to the smaller highways or staying on backroads. 

They’re not too far from where that cop was attacked, and Dean wasn’t sure how he was going to face that man after watching his wife take him apart. It turned out, he didn’t have to. The officer is in a coma, expected to wake up, but not any time soon, and they needed to get going before the trail went completely cold. He isn’t sure how far she’s gone, and there’s the urge to push down hard on the accelerator and close the miles between them as fast as possible, but something holds him back, has him keeping the needle exactly on the speed limit. This is what she would have done. 

She’s acting recklessly, not stupidly. 

Dean keeps the radio on for Sam’s sake, gets lucky and finds a college station that plays all the crappy alternative stuff his little brother likes. He gets a weird look for his troubles and ignores it; it’s not like he’s listened to music since Pala left, especially once he figured out what she meant when she thanked them for their song. 

It’s in their blood, he realized after a while. The Mark affects everyone differently, but he remembers the way it felt for him, the rush of power and heat, the way he craved it more than anything. What it felt like every time he killed with the Blade in his hand, the pure energy that radiated from each monster- Every beast a different flavor, a different feeling unique to them. 

Pala hears music in their suffering; Dean only felt their infinite potential as he snuffed it out. Two sides of the same coin, but he can’t listen to his cassettes anymore without wondering if Pala ever wanted to hear his own song. 

He wonders what it would sound like. 

Sam clears his throat, and Dean looks over at him for a second. 

“Yeah?” 

“There was a report of a fire about two hours from here. Cabin burned down. It was booked in the name Pala Knight. No one’s seen her to ask her any questions, but I’m betting she’s still in the area.” 

Dean considers this. “What time did the cabin go up?” 

“A little before ten is when the firefighters arrived on scene.” 

“Pretty early to call it a night,” he mutters, frowning at the change in behavior. In the four months they’ve been chasing her, Pala’s been driving through until the early morning hours, able to function on less rest than they can. 

“I just think she didn’t leave. She’d settled in, for whatever reason, so I’m thinking the fire wasn’t in her plans. She probably found a different place to stay.” 

Dean nods. “Alright. Let me know when I need to turn.” 

It’s not bad reasoning on Sam’s part, and Dean finds himself agreeing, partly because he wants him to be right. Mostly because hope has been pretty damn hard to find lately, and he desperately needs to get his hands on her, get her back home and back to human. 

This isn’t the closest they’ve gotten- the run-in at the park still haunts him- but it’s closer than they’ve been in a while. 

Still, he can’t quite figure out why she would suddenly start turning in so early in the evening. Is she hurt? Did something happen after the video he saw? Or was she not faking it- Maybe she was actually hurt and just couldn’t control the Mark, couldn’t control herself… Maybe… 

He shakes his head. No way could she move like that if she were hurt. Whatever is going on, she’s safe. She’s okay. 

Bitter comfort, he thinks, in the wake of all the pain she’s left behind. 

It’s still pretty early in the morning, so when Dean pulls into the town, he decides to stop for breakfast, get some gas in the car and stretch his legs before they go find the cabins and local firehouse. 

“What do you want?” Sam asks as Dean swipes his card at the pump. 

“Something with grease,” he says. “And a cup of caffeine too. Biggest one they’ve got. I’m running on fumes.” 

Sam walks off, and Dean leans against the trunk of the Impala, dropping his head back, eyes closing against the glare of the sun. The sounds and smells of a gas station are familiar and comforting; fuel, the way the pump sounds, cars starting and ignitions cut off. People move faster in the mornings than they will in the heat of the afternoon, and Dean listens to their footsteps, begins to relax. 

There’s an incredulous laugh not far from him, and it’s more familiar than anything else. He jerks, opens his eyes, and there she is. At the pump opposite from him, not even ten feet away, standing in front of a black convertible. 

He drinks in the sight of her, her curls and the smile that’s almost fond, almost like it used to be, though it has an edge to it now that it didn’t have before. Her eyes are still the same chrome they always were, and he trails his eyes down to the v-neck, the soft expanse of skin, and then- 

And then- 

Then- 

“Hey there, Daddy,” Pala says, sharp and amused. 

He tries to take a step, but his knees give, and he hits the pavement hard, tripping over his own two feet. He feels lightheaded. Bile gathers at the back of his throat, his stomach churning. 

“Baby,” he says. “Baby, wait.” 

“Buh-bye.” 

He reaches out a hand, tries to call for his brother, but he can’t. He can’t get to his feet, can’t stop her as she guns the engine and squeals her way out of the parking lot. His vision is swimming; he can feel his pulse in his temple, heart pounding so hard in his chest he feels like a cartoon. His palms fall flat on the ground, gravel biting into the skin, and he pukes hard, nothing but foam and acid. 

Baby. The baby. Theirs, his and hers. 

_ Daddy _ .

“Dean!” 

“Sam,” he moans, grabs hold of his brother’s arm when Sam kneels next to him. “I saw her. She was here. Sam, she-“ 

“She was here? Where? Why didn’t you-“ 

“Sam. The baby. The baby’s alive.” He coughs twice, rubs at his chest. “I’m gonna be a father.” 


	75. Four

Pala drives fast and with no direction, constantly checking her rearview for the brothers. She changes cars three times in twelve hours, feels vaguely paranoid due to her chance meeting with Dean, heads east then south, then north. At the end of the day, she’s not really sure which state she’s in, so she pulls over at the first hotel she finds to get her bearings. She’s just barely over the West Virginia border.   
  
The hotel has a business center, so after she drops her duffel bag into the room, she takes the elevator downstairs and sets up shop in front of a computer. Pala needs to go to ground and fast; now that her family knows about the thing growing inside her, staying away from them is going to be a near impossible task. Crowley would be willing to hide her, she knows, but that isn’t an avenue she’s wanting to explore. It’s best if she handles this on her own.   
  
She figures Dean hasn’t been doing a lot of hunting since he’s been so busy looking for her, so she feels pretty secure in her research. After a few hours, she finds what she’s looking for in South Carolina, adding together the pieces in a small town’s gazette. It’s tempting to head out now, get a headstart, but her stomach growls, and she sighs, tired and hungry, unwilling to face another seven to eight hours in the car. What is she even driving right now? She finds she can’t remember. Not that it matters, she’ll have to hotwire a new one before she leaves anyway.   
  
Pala orders Chinese food, settles in for a night of television, bored before the first commercial break. She cruises through the channels, puts on a remarkably violent movie that manages to hold her attention, but the gore falls flat to her, the film’s score unable to compare to the music of pure pain.   
  
There’s a knock at the door, and she is hungry for so much more than dumplings.   
  
The delivery boy is young, probably still in high school, and it is all Pala can do to hand over her cash and grit out, “Keep the change,” before slamming the door in the kid’s face. It’s even harder not to wrench it back open when she hears him mutter, “Bitch.”   
  
If he only knew.

In the morning before the sun even rises, Pala packs up, finds an older model truck in the lot and takes it for her own. The drive seems longer than usual, and she has to stop every couple hours to pee, cursing at her belly each time she takes another exit because of her bladder instead of the gas gauge. She makes good time, though, even with her multiple bathroom trips, and the sun isn’t quite beginning to set when she pulls in front of a two story home on the outskirts of town.

The locals give it a wide berth, and Pala doesn’t blame them. It gives off waves of dark power, and even someone who doesn’t recognize what it is would be affected. The two people who live here aren’t well known in town, not exactly; they’re known of, and everyone makes a point to steer clear, because the few residents who have had run-ins with them tend to end up with incredibly bad luck that sometimes lands them in the morgue. Thus far, the witch and the warlock have managed to stay off the hunter radar.

Pala needs a house and a quiet place to finish up this pregnancy, so she cuts the engine on the truck and sneaks in through the backdoor, listens carefully, then heads downstairs to the cellar.

She remembers what it was like before the turn. When the monster was inside her screaming, held tight on its leash begging for the chance to be let loose, part of her, but separate.

It’s a visceral memory, the fear of death - _ Trisha’s table of horrors, swamp water and sharp claws on her neck _ \- the finite understanding of her own mortality.

The First Blade buries itself in the warlock’s throat, her aim sure and perfect, and he drops to his knees across the room. Beneath her fingers, the witch’s trachea breaks, eyes wide with silent pleas.

Pala can taste her own song on her tongue, blood dripping from a few cuts on her face. Her music has no end.

Pala remembers what it was like when the monster was in chains.   
  
She leaves the bodies in the basement. No one will miss two old shut-ins, especially when the new neighbor is a beautiful pregnant woman.    
  


*

Dean isn’t ready to give up, but he’s ready for a break. 

It’s been a month, and though he knew from the moment she shagged ass out of the parking lot that Pala would be damn near impossible to find now that her secret was out, he finds himself impressed by how neatly she’s gone off the grid. There’s no hint of her in any news story he’s looked at in the last four weeks, whereas before, he usually could catch wind of his wife one way or another. Wherever Baby’s gone, he has no way of following just now.   
  
He rubs at tired eyes and then, since his brother and sister-in-law are both grabbing an early afternoon nap with Robert, opens his bookmarks to the folder titled  **the baby** .

It’s not something he can admit to openly. The few conversations he’s had with Sam about Pala’s pregnancy haven’t ended well to date, so they’ve settled into a tense truce, leaving Dean to wonder about his child in private. He’s been reading about car seats, barely managing not to ask Becky for her opinion and advice, figuring if his brother has concerns about the humanity of the baby, so does she. He pores over all of his bookmarks again, intending to go back to news sites, but he can’t keep searching when there’s nothing to find. 

He needs something he can actually do. 

Dean’s always wanted kids, but when Pala told him, voice breaking and tears dampening his shirt, that she couldn’t have any, he pushed that want away. It didn’t matter- He wanted her more than any hypothetical children he could have with anyone else. She was the only woman for him, his Baby, his soul mate, and if they couldn’t have children together, then it wasn’t a hard sacrifice to make. When he saw the pregnancy test, hours after she died in his arms, choking on her own blood, it was devastating, horrific to see what was about to be, a miracle snuffed out before it had a real chance. 

But seeing her, round and full with the swell of what their love created before she turned, a child that is his, that somehow survived her death just as she did, he’s found that old ache rising inside him, refusing to be ignored any longer. He wants this baby just as much as he wants her back. 

Hours later finds him in his bedroom, bags and bags across the blanket, a large open box, wooden slats out and his toolbox on the floor next to him. Dean’s always been good with his hands, and now, he doesn’t think about his wife’s black eyes or the grainy footage of her savagery. He imagines the soft weight of his kid, the clean way babies always smell, and he puts the crib together carefully, precise in his movements. 

He can’t find his child or his wife, but he can make space in this room for his son or daughter, so that’s exactly what he does. Dean pushes furniture around, a tiny dresser next to his own, filled with small onesies and socks, and the tiniest pair of boots that he can’t believe he actually bought. This must be some kind of madness, but this is all he can do and he has to do it or lose his mind. 

“Dean?” 

Becky looks at him curiously, gentle and hesitant, leaning back against the doorway. 

“Where’s the little guy?” he asks roughly. 

“Taking a nap. You know, you could have asked. Robert’s just about big enough for a toddler bed, we’d have given you his crib.” 

Dean shrugs, and Becky takes several steps toward him, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder, kneeling next to his nearly finished project. She doesn’t speak at first, just takes in the sight of the dark wood and the crisp white mattress propped against his own bed. 

“I know…” she begins, then stops, breathes deeply. “I know what Sam said to you. I know he’s worried, but I know that Pala… I know she truly loved you, and you truly love her. And I know that baby… It’s yours, Dean, and anything that’s yours… Anything made with the way the two of you loved… The baby survived, Dean. And I don’t think… And neither does Sam. He was scared and caught off-guard, and he spoke without thinking. But, we’re with you, Dean. We’re with you.” 

Dean closes his eyes, reaches out a hand to take one of Becky’s, squeezing her slim fingers with a shaking palm. He doesn’t want to cry, not again; he can’t afford to. He’s going to be a father, and he can’t fall apart no matter how much he wants to. 

“I didn’t buy it a bear,” he says. “Figured it could have mine.” He laughs a little, shakes his head. “Was gonna put Mom Bear in the crib for it.” 

“I think that’s a great idea. I’ve got a few extra sheets, if you need it.” 

Dean nods, opens his eyes and turns his head to look at his sister. She’s smiling, kind and sweet, like always, and he sighs heavily. 

“I couldn’t keep looking,” he says at last. “I couldn’t. I needed to… I need her.” His voice breaks, and he swallows hard, trying to control his emotions and feels his eyes prick with unshed tears. “I need her and my kid, and I just couldn’t keep looking and finding jack all to show for it.” 

“It’s okay, Dean,” says Becky. “You don’t have to. Sam and I can-“ 

“You’re not gonna find anything.” Dean lets go of her hand, sinks back against his bed and lets his head drop back, presses his palm against his cheek. “If Pala doesn’t want us to find her, we won’t. She’s a Winchester, and we know how to stay off the radar. Until she’s ready to be found…” 

He doesn’t want to think about it. 

“If she doesn’t…” Dean chokes on the idea. “What if- Becky, what if I can’t find either of them?” 

She’s quiet, and then she’s next to him, their shoulders and elbows pressed together, and she bumps her head lightly against his, laces their fingers together. They look at the crib he’s built, waiting for a mattress and sheets and a baby, not speaking for a long time. Dean can feel the pressure inside his rib cage building, the ache growing faster now that it’s been acknowledged. The pain of his need is sharp. 

Becky’s voice is soft. 

“We’ll find them, Dean.” 

He kisses his sister’s hairline, then shrugs helplessly, still staring at cherry wood, thinking about green eyes and dark curls and a tiny fist that will curl around his finger. 

It amazes him that hope still has a place in his life. 

*

She feels like she’s climbing the walls. It took her a week to dig the holes in the soft dirt floor of the cellar, her stomach impeding her progress. She’s been in this town a month, and she’s noticed changes in her body. Her cleavage is out of control, spilling out of her bras; she’s had to buy new ones. Her feet and ankles are so swollen she can’t get them into her boots. Her jeans don’t fit any more, and she’s furious about all of this. She’s had to start shopping in the maternity section, enduring far too much help from cheerful saleswoman. 

Pala wants to eat their smiles. 

But, she doesn’t. She keeps herself on a tight leash, bites her tongue or the inside of her cheek until she bleeds, her own song sliding down her throat. This is like dying, but slower, more ridiculous, and if she runs into Dean again, she might kill him on principle. He’s the only reason she’s let this stupid farce continue. She can’t get rid of something that he would love so much, even if it is the biggest inconvenience she can possibly imagine. 

She’s a demon, and whatever soul she had is no longer recognizable as human (or vehicle, she muses with a wry smile) but it’s still all about Dean. She misses him, misses their game of hide and seek, cat and mouse, husband and wife. She misses watching him from the hotel room across the parking lot, having left him a false trail. The harsh set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the need that was all for her. 

She rubs a hand over her stomach, sighs at the push against her palm. The kicks are getting stronger now. They started as flutters, but now they’re forceful. No mistaking what’s going on. 

“Your father is a problem,” she says softly. “Don’t know how I’m going to get you to him, but I will, and that’s the last thing I’m doing for you. Got that?” 

She winces when she gets a foot in the ribs. 

Pala sighs, glances out the kitchen window at the street. It’s just now getting dark, and there’s a spark under her skin, a deep need to go out and take what the world has to offer her. She hasn’t hurt or killed in so many weeks, and she feels lethargic, heavy, and overwhelmingly bored.

There were reasons she came here, holed up in the small town with overly polite neighbors that have quickly grown to love her, falling for her false charm and big belly. Pala wonders what they’d think if they knew about the two corpses rotting beneath her basement’s dirt floor. 

It’s loneliness that has her letting them come over, bringing her banana bread and asking what they think are subtle questions about the father. 

And for some reason, she answers. She tells them all about Dean, about her husband and how much he loves her, how she knows he wishes he could be here. She tells them he’s a hero, and they all assume he’s in the military. She doesn’t correct them. 

She doesn’t know why she keeps talking. 

Her rage explodes without warning when she feels another kick, and suddenly, she’s in motion. Everything within her reach is thrown. Pala balls up her fists and breaks through the drywall without any hesitation, dust filling the air. She breaks the leg off one of the table chairs and uses it like a bat, moving throughout the house, smashing windows and lamps as she curses her husband’s name and this thing of his growing inside her that she doesn’t want. She comes to an abrupt stop in the middle of the wrecked living room, breathing harshly through her nose, fury making her shake. 

And then, there’s a sharp pain in her side, and she grabs tight to a barstool as she doubles over, recognizing a few notes of her own harmony, damp suddenly between her thighs, and she gasps. 

*

It feels like he’s barely closed his eyes when the phone rings. Dean groans, reaches out blindly with one hand to answer it, mumbling a hello that is thick with sleep. 

His wife says, “I heard its heartbeat.”


	76. Five

He shoots straight up in bed, chest pounding. “Baby?” 

“Yeah. It’s me. Or. Yes, your kid’s heart. I heard it beat tonight.” She sighs. “The hospital said the thing is fine, perfectly healthy, due in about ten weeks, maybe more, maybe less.” There’s a sound, the rustle of paper. “They gave me this list of stuff I’m supposed to eat, recommended vitamins, stuff like that.” 

It’s like he’s forgotten how to speak at the sound of her voice, at the news, at everything. He opens his mouth and closes it, rubbing at his face with the heel of his hand. 

“Baby. It’s good to hear your voice,” he says, his own cracking, and he doesn’t know why he’s said it, waits for the joke she’ll make from his agony. She’s silent on the other end of the line for what feels like forever, but he’s content to listen to her breathe. He’s missed her so much, hasn’t spoken to her in half a year, and he’ll gladly let her mock him if it means she’ll stay on the phone. 

“It’s good to hear yours.” 

He’s absolutely floored by that response, not even close to what he was expecting. She seems surprised by the admission as well, an almost confused sounding sigh following, but he doesn’t push, afraid to examine her words too much right now. 

“My soul may be dark and twisted and scarred, but it still belongs with yours, Dean.”

He swallows down the whimper lodged in his throat, tears running freely over his stubble, salt on his lips. Dean breathes deep, if shakily. 

“You heard our baby’s heart beat?” he asks. “Why were you in the hospital?” 

“I threw myself a good fit in the place I was staying and started bleeding. I had to make sure your kid was okay.” 

“The baby’s really alright? Are you alright?” 

“I told you- The thing is fine, Dean, and so am I. Still able to perform my duties as incubator.” She pauses. “It kicks. Hard. And it likes sweets, just like you do.” 

“Yeah?” He sits up a little straighter, hungry for anything she’ll give him. “What kind?” 

“Anything with sugar.” 

“That’s my kid, alright.” 

“Sure is. Don’t worry, Dean, I won’t try to take it from you. I don’t want it. If I could give it to you now, I would."

“The baby is ours, Pala. Our baby,” Dean insists, needs her to remember that, needs her to be his again. “Don’t you remember how much you wanted this all these years?” 

“I remember how much you wanted this,” she replies. “So, I kept it.” 

Dean rubs his forehead with thumb and forefinger, frown lines beneath the pads, and it hurts, this conversation with his wife who only vaguely resembles the woman he fell in love with. 

“Just a few more months of this,” she says, and he can hear the fatigue in her voice. 

“And then what?” 

“I haven’t figured that out yet. Crowley offered to set me up with a nanny.” 

Dean growls into the phone, and Pala’s chuckle is dark, but agreeable. 

“I turned him down. He bought a whole bunch of baby shit. A car seat and a fucking breast pump. I set it all on fire.” 

“So that’s what happened to the cabin.” 

“Always one step behind me, Dean.”

“Baby, it doesn’t- Please. I can save you. “ 

“Dean. No. You know how to make me human again. I’m not interested. I remember what it was like before I turned. The way it felt. This dark thing beneath my skin, clawing at my insides. I remember the nightmares and the fear of the monster that had taken up shop next to my soul. But now…. Now, I am the monster, and I’m not the one who’s scared anymore.” 

He wants to tell her she’s not, but in his mind, he sees a line of victims across the country, sees a scratchy video of a severe and unprovoked beating, and he can hear it in her voice. She’s made her choice. 

But, he made his years ago. 

“I promised you I wasn’t ever gonna quit on you.” 

“I know. It’s what makes this all more fun.” 

“This is fun for you?” he grits out. 

“Not as fun as other things we did together, but I don’t think husbands have one night stands with their wives, but maybe I’m wrong.” 

“Sure. Just let me know where.” 

Pala laughs, and Dean almost wants to join her at how ridiculous this conversation is. He shakes his head. 

“Sounding a little desperate there, Dean.” 

He doesn’t bother to tell her that’s he completely desperate, because they both know that’s an understatement.

Unexpectedly, she says, “I’m in Tennessee.” 

Dean turns on the light. 

*

Her six month pregnant belly makes it hard to maneuver behind the wheel of the car. She’s tired and her ankles are swollen, making her crankier than usual, but now that she’s given Dean her location, it’s time to move on. She has a gift for him, and she left it in her hotel room, leaving the key under the mat. It’s eleven hours from Lebanon to Memphis, and Pala is willing to be her husband will be here in nine. 

Pala sinks into the driver’s seat as she heads the car west, wondering if she’ll pass Sam and Dean on the highway. She doesn’t have a destination in mind, and she follows the traffic around her, taking exits without looking at signs. Several times, she stops for bathroom breaks and sugar, aggravated with every person who comments on her condition, lets her eyes turn black at the particularly chatty clerk who asks about names. 

She’d told them at the hospital that she didn’t want to know the sex, and they’d respected that wish. Whether their baby is a boy or a girl doesn’t matter to her. 

Pala frowns at the mental slip. Calling Dean was a mistake; this is  _ his _ kid. It’s not hers. It’s just some parasite living off her and making her crave ice cream and PayDays.

The thought makes her bristle, and she gets off the highway as soon as she can, turns into a Wal-Mart and heads inside quickly, decidedly trying not to think the word “waddle” as she does. The confines of the car are too much for her just this minute, and she refuses to acknowledge pregnancy hormones as the cause, instead takes her growing fury and channels it into forward motion. She looks through the crowd with sharp, discerning eyes, her mouth watering at the idea of a new song to taste. 

Old and young, men and women, grey hair at the temples and perfect blondes. All of them are ripe for the picking. This world is her for the taking. 

And there, she finds him. Tall like her husband, with the same short hair and five o’clock shadow, his young son his perfect mirror. She waddles (and then growls) towards them and lays a careful hand on the man’s shoulder. 

“Hello,” she says. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I can’t get my husband on the phone- he turns it off when he’s at work- and my car won’t start. Can you please help me?” 

If he thinks it strange that she’s walked this deep into the store to find help, he doesn’t comment on it. He can’t see past the bump, doesn’t recognize the predator she is, and he smiles. 

“Of course. Come on, Dylan,” he says to the boy, who slips a small hand into his father’s much larger one. “Where are you parked, ma’am?” 

“Aisle five.” 

Dylan keeps glancing at her, and Pala keeps smiling back, resting a hand on her stomach, trying to stay away from the flurry of kicks inside her. Children are always more wary of her than adults are, more perceptive and much more likely to believe in evil than their parents. 

“Would want someone to help my wife,” the man is saying. “I’m David, by the way, and this is my son, Dylan.” 

“Pala,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you both. Thank you so much for helping.” 

“It’s no trouble,” David replies, his voice rich with a drawl, and a want rises in her, a need, and it’s all she can do to keep it in check. 

Dylan’s eyes grow wide. “Daddy…” 

“Just a minute, son.” 

They all stop in front of Pala’s latest stolen car, and David opens the door so he can pop the hood. She grins at Dylan, then looks back at his father. Neither of them know how truly vulnerable they are, but the child has a much better idea. 

“Do you have any siblings?” Pala finds herself asking. 

Dylan nods. “I have a little sister. Mama is at home with her.” He thinks for a minute. “Is your baby a boy or a girl?” 

She looks away from him, steps closer to David who is looking at her engine with a frown on his face, trying to find a problem that doesn’t exist. 

“Ma’am?” asks Dylan. 

Her hands curl into fists, and she pivots, belly thrust proudly out in front of her, David still unaware of the danger. Pala is imagining the way it will sound when she slams his head into the hot engine block, the way Dylan will scream in fear and David will cry out in pain. 

“Ma’am? Is your baby a boy or a girl?” 

The baby kicks. 

_ Dammit _ , thinks Pala. 

She kneels down, and Dylan take a cautious step towards her and she holds out her hand to him, which he takes and lets her press to the bump, his eyes lighting up when he feels the kick. 

“I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl,” says Pala. “It’s a surprise.” 

“A good surprise,” says Dylan, his shoulders sagging with relief, and he smiles at her. 

He’s not afraid of her anymore, and Pala knows he doesn’t need to be. What she doesn’t understand is why. 

David says, “Ma’am, let me see if I can get your car started. I can’t find anything wrong.” 

The engine turns over on the first time, and David explains it as a possible computer glitch, waves off her convincing apology. Dylan waves goodbye, and they walk back into the store, never looking back. Pala watches them go, their backs unprotected. She could take both of them down with a gunshot from here, and her hand twitches towards her weapons bag. 

She gets in the car and back on the highway. 

*

Dean knows better than to expect her to be there, but the closer he gets, the harder his heart pounds. Every tiny thing that slows him down, the need to stop for fuel or an accident that result in stop and go traffic, makes him anxious, fingers tapping on the steering wheel. He and Sam don’t make much conversation, and he lets his brother pick the music, not even hearing whatever blue grass crap is coming through the speakers.

Nine hours on the road later, he steps out of the Impala and onto Motel 6’s asphalt, looks at the door to room one-seventeen. He lifts the mat, finds the plastic just where his wife promised it would be. Part of him wants to put it back, walk away, go find a dark bar and get drunk before he faces whatever is on the other side. Sam touches his shoulder, his hand a steadying weight, and Dean grunts in acknowledgement. 

He slides the key into the reader, waits for the light to flash green. The door opens easily. 

Pala is sitting at the side of the bed, a picture held in her hands in front of the swell of her stomach, and she looks up at him, tears streaming down her face. She tries to smile, but it trembles, and she bites her bottom lip briefly to try to make it stop. Then, she says, so softly he almost can’t hear, the same way she always has, with love and affection and history and need,

“Dean.”


	77. Six

It’s like a rubber band snapping back into place, she thinks later, when the pain from the shift has subsided. The monster howls in rage, locked deep inside herself, back in chains. 

She rubs her belly and cries and apologizes to her child, love filling her chest and all the broken places the Mark created and her baby healed. 

Pala waits, and she hopes. 

*

“Dean, wait,” says Sam. 

Dean shrugs out from beneath his brother’s hand. He understands Sam’s hesitance, the concern, all of the reasons this could be a bad idea. It looks like a trap. But, she looks like his wife. Eyes red from crying, body tense with anxiety, and it’s every instinct he has to walk away from Sam and cross the faded carpet. 

He drops to his knees in front of her, and she doesn’t pull away, sinks into his touch, his hands on her face, her shoulders and arms, checking for wounds he knows he won’t find. He palms her cheek, squeezes her shoulder. 

“Baby.” 

“It’s me,” she says with a shaking whisper. “It’s me. It’s really me. I’m not- I’m not a demon. The baby. The baby…” 

She sobs, chokes on her words, and Dean’s hand drifts from her shoulder to her belly, and for the first time, he feels his child move. He doesn’t know if it’s a foot or a hand, but it’s a touch, like the baby knows he’s here and is greeting him. His throat tightens up, and he stares into the steel colored eyes that hold all of her humanity, overwhelmed and in love. 

“Can I come home?” 

Pala looks scared, like she’s waiting for him to say no, and he brushes his thumb across her cheek, her tears soaking into his skin, and he leans forward, touches their foreheads together, her stomach pressed against his. 

“Of course. Yes. Baby,” he exhales, letting his eyes drop shut. 

Her arms wrap around him, holding them together, the picture in her hands against the back of his shoulder, and Dean can feel her shaking against him, fear and tension radiating off her in waves. 

“The baby,” Pala whispers. “The baby turned me back. Gave me my soul back from the Mark.” 

“How?” asks Dean, but he doesn’t care how, just that she’s here with him and cured. 

“I don’t know, but Dean, I swear, I know that’s what happened. Dean, I’m so sorry.”

Sam clears his throat, and they break apart. Dean looks at Pala, but she’s looking over his shoulder, terrified. 

“Hi, Sam.” 

“Hey, Pala,” Sam says cautiously. “You mind if I…” 

“Sam,” Dean growls. “You think I don’t know my own wife?” 

“It’s okay, Dean. Go ahead,” Pala says, lets go of Dean to extend an arm to Sam. “Whatever you need. I understand.” 

He can’t watch his brother test his wife, not when he can see the truth right in front of him, so he takes the picture from Pala. It’s an ultrasound, he realizes. He’s looking at his child. It takes him a second to remember what he’s looking for, searching his memories for Becky’s easy explanation of where Robert was on the grainy photo, and after half a minute, he finds his child in black and white. This tiny, beautiful child that survived death and saved their mother. The littlest Winchester, already kicking ass and keeping the family together. 

Dean smiles, tears pricking his eyes and Pala touches his jaw, prompting him to look up. 

“Is it a boy or a girl?” he asks. 

“I don’t know,” she says. “I didn’t want to, and I haven’t been back.” 

“We can wait,” he tells her roughly. “Until they’re born.”

Pala nods gratefully, hands trembling at the absolution, and he threads the fingers of one hand through her curls and brings her to him, presses their lips together, moans at the softness of her mouth, the taste of her kiss. She curls a hand around his neck, squeezes his arm, and the swell keeps them from being as close as he wants, but he’ll find a way around that later. For now, it’s enough to kiss her, trail his mouth across her cheek to her temple, hold her tight. 

“Let’s go home,” he says. 

*

Pala lays her head on Dean’s shoulder in the backseat of the Impala, his arm wrapped around her, his hand on her belly, fingers laced with hers. She watches Sam’s gaze in the rearview mirror, their eyes locking periodically. Even though she passed his tests, just like she knew she would, he doesn’t trust her. She doesn’t hold that against him; she hurt his brother in every way she knew she could, hid her pregnancy, then taunted Dean with it. 

Dean’s phone dings, and he looks at it, then chuckles and hands it to her. 

“It’s for you, Baby. It’s Becky.” 

Pala glances up at him in surprise, and he smiles at her, the laugh lines around his eyes deep. He looks so handsome, so relaxed, and she smiles back, lets herself sink into his warmth and strength. Her husband looks like everything in the world has righted itself, and Pala wants so desperately to believe that it has. 

**How are you feeling?** reads the text from Becky. 

She wants to cry. She knows Becky well enough to hear how that question would sound. No judgement or anger or hidden agenda. The perfect sincerity and care from the blonde makes Pala’s chest tight. 

**I feel like I don’t deserve my husband** . Pala doesn’t mean to type it, but now that she has, she knows it’s true.  **I can’t believe that I did this to him. To us. I can’t believe he’s letting me come home. Sam doesn’t want me there, I don’t think. **

Becky’s reply is immediate.  **Sam wants you there. **

**Sam has just been stressed. **

**I want you home, Pala. We all do.**

**Pala, don’t think we don’t want you. **

She smiles, writes back,  **Becky, I’m not going anywhere unless I’m asked to.**

Her best friends says,  **Do you need maternity clothes? I kept mine in case Sam and I ever wanted another baby. They should fit you.**

Dean kisses the top of her head and inhales deeply. Pala types back a question, and tilts her chin up to kiss her husband’s lips. 

“Becky and I might go shopping tomorrow. For the baby.” 

“I bought a crib,” he tells her. “I set it up in our room. I know we got plenty of rooms to put a nursery in, but I want both of you close for a while.” 

“Oh, Dean.” Every ounce of guilt presses down on her, and she knows that it’s only going to get worse as the months go on and she sees the evidence of the pain she inflicted on her family. “I’m so sorry.” 

“It isn’t your fault. Don’t apologize. You’re here. You’re with me. We’ll work the rest out, okay?” 

“All those people, Dean,” she whispers. 

“We’ll work it out,” he says firmly. “We can do this.” 

She nods against his shoulder, looks down as a text message comes in. 

**Of course! I can’t wait to see you, Pala. I missed you so much. **

She wishes she could say she missed Becky the last six months, but instead, all she replies with is,  **I can’t wait to see you either. **

Pala closes her eyes and breathes in Dean’s scent, cheap detergent and gun oil and something else all his own, and sighs deeply. 

“Everything alright, Baby?” 

She isn’t sure, but she answers, “Yes, Dean.” 

*

Dean sips his beer slowly at the kitchen table, his hand on the nape of Pala’s neck, his thumb stroking her soft skin. He can’t take his eyes off of her, barely keeping track of the conversation around him. His wife is tired, that much is obvious, and more than that, she’s hurting, guilt and shame in every line of her face, no matter how much she tries to hide it. She’s happy to be home, but he can tell she doesn’t feel like she has a right to be here. Becky’s bright smile and Sam’s more reserved one aren’t doing much for her, and within an hour, he’s making their excuses, leading them away from his brother and sister and down the hall to their bedroom. 

Maybe he’ll actually get some sleep at some point tonight. 

He shuts the door behind them, and Pala stares at the crib, the desk that’s shoved off into a corner to make room. He’d ended up buying sheets and blankets on his own, even with Becky’s offer of help. It was the only thing he could do to keep his mind off his missing wife and child. 

“If you want, we can buy something else,” he tells her. “I just-“ 

“It’s beautiful,” she says softly. “Woodland theme, trees and bears. Fits right in with all the plaid around here.” 

He laughs, steps behind her, slides an arm across her chest, palming her shoulder, pressing his other hand flat to her stomach. Dean nuzzles the soft spot behind her ear, kisses the start of her jawline. 

“I bought little boots. They look just like mine,” he admits. “I want them to have everything.” 

“So do I.” 

“I want you to have everything, Pala.” 

She turns to face him, her proud belly putting space between them that he doesn’t necessarily want. There are tears in her eyes now that they’re alone again. 

“Why?” she asks. “I don’t deserve anything. Not after…” 

“Baby.” 

“No, Dean. After what I…” She glances at their bed, then back to him. “I don’t even know if I can try to sleep. I don’t know what I’ll see when I close my eyes.” 

“I see you,” he says, cupping her face in both his hands. “Always do.” 

“Dean…” 

He draws her in for a kiss, and he knows she’s hurting, knows that if she sleeps at all, she’ll wake screaming, but he can’t help how happy he is right now. After half a year of not having her here, of thinking their child was dead, to have them both here, safe and alive and with him… 

“We don’t have to make love,” he tells her, kisses her again, soft and careful. “We don’t. I just- I’m sorry, Baby, but I’m so fucking- You’re here, and it’s everything. It means everything. And the baby… You’re both here. You’re you again, the baby’s alive, and so are you, and I just… You don’t know.” 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, raising her arms, her soft, slim hands resting just below his jaw, fingertips on his stubble. “I do know. I know how much I hurt you. I did it on purpose. I knew exactly how to, and I enjoyed it, and I’m so sorry. I love you so much, I love you more than anything, and I… I don’t know how I ever could have-“ 

“It wasn’t you,” he tells her. “I knew that.” 

“But it was me. It wasn’t some other thing inside me, making me… It was me. I was a demon. And God help me, Dean, I  _ liked _ it.” 

“Baby. It’s okay. You’re not a demon anymore.” 

“I know. Because this baby… Your baby- It healed me. It saved me.” She smiles, sad, steel eyes rich with grief. “Just like you always have.” 

“Yours too,” Dean reminds her. “They’re strong, just like you are.” 

“Like you.” 

“Dean.” 

“Pala, the real you… The you with me right now. You would never hurt anyone.”

“You don’t know that.” 

“But I do.” 

“I called the baby an it. This whole time, until today.” 

Dean can’t help the flinch, the reminder, and she tries to pull away, but he grabs her wrists, turns his head to kiss her palm, his eyes closing, taking a second to regain his composure. They have some things to work through. He knows that. 

“What if it had been me?” he asks quietly. “Me who had the Mark, who got… killed in that alley. Me who called our baby ‘it’ until my soul turned from black to human again. What if, Pala? What would you tell me?” 

“Dean, you know that I could never hate-“ 

“Yeah. I do know. And I could never hate you.”

She sighs heavily, but Dean knows he’s won, if only for just now. He watches the fight go out of her shoulders, watches her surrender to his comfort, and he smiles when she pulls him in for a kiss. 

It’s a little awkward at first, the changes in her body not something he’s had time to gradually get used to, but they still fit together, they’re still made for each other, and he gets her out of her clothes easily, stripping out of his own. He leaves the light on, wanting to be able to see her at every moment, afraid of losing sight of her, afraid she’ll disappear somehow if he does. She tries to get to her knees, but he won’t let her, guides her onto their bed, on her side, lays down to face her and kisses her, wraps her in his arms, her skin on his, and he thinks he doesn’t need more than this if she doesn’t want it. Dean’s more than content to lose himself in the taste of her lips and sound of her soft whimpers as he touches her, her nipples hard under his fingers and then his tongue.

She’s just as responsive as he remembers, maybe more so, and he props her up against every pillow they have, slides down her body, between her thighs to taste her, slipping her legs over his shoulders. He moans at the familiar flavor, instantly wanting more, pressing his hips into the mattress to give himself the barest amount of relief, easing his tongue inside her, getting as much of her taste as he can. She’s so wet, two fingers gliding in with no resistance, and she moans as his tongue circles her clit, bucking onto his hand and mouth, and Dean wants everything she’ll give him, sucking at that most sensitive spot, thrusting his fingers in and out, until he can feel her legs start to shake, her moans getting higher and higher. He knows she’s close, surprised she hasn’t fallen over the edge yet, even more surprised when she pushes him away. 

“Dean,” is all she says, but he knows her well enough to know what she means. 

He gets to his knees, staring down at her for a long minute- She’s so beautiful, and she’s his wife, and she’s here, all his again. He considers her belly for a second, then eases her onto her side once more, crawling behind her. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

She nods. “Just need you.” 

Dean almost comes the second he’s inside her. It’s been a long time, and she’s,  _ fuck, she’s so wet.  _ He rocks back and forth, moving slow and steady, trying to hold out, because he doesn’t want this to end yet, not ever really. He has her held tight to him, but it’s almost not enough, she’s almost not close enough, after so long apart. She squeezes his hand tightly, her other gripping the sheet, his arm stretched out to curl his hand around her fist. She feels so good around him, so good moving back to meet his thrusts, and  _ fuck, he could come right now _ . Except, he can tell, for all her moans and as good as this may feel for her, she’s not where he’s at, not where he wants her to be.

“Baby,” he says. “What do you need to get you there?”

“I- Fuck. I don’t know, I don’t know if I can.” Her voice sounds strangled, almost like a sob. 

“Hey, hey- It’s alright, we can-“ 

“Don’t stop. It feels good,” she insists, moaning as he keeps up his motions. “I just, I can’t-“ 

“Tell me what you need, Baby.” 

“I just want you to come,” she tells him. “I want to feel you come inside me. Please, Dean, please come for me.” 

Dean growls, buries his face in her neck, kisses her, tastes the sweat on her skin. 

“Baby, come with me, I want to feel it.” 

“I don’t think I can, please, Dean, just-“ 

She squeezes him then, tightens up on his shaft, and he knows it’s purposeful, and he can’t hold out, no matter how much he wants to. She’s hot and slick, and she’s his Baby, made for him, and  _ feels so good, always so good with her, needed this, missed this, missed her, needed her, Baby, Pala, Baby, mine. _ And she cries out his name as he breaks over the edge, his pleasure sating her, even as he leaves her behind when he falls. He trembles against her, her body still tense with want, and he slides a hand between her thighs. 

“Just let me try,” he says softly. “I’ll stop, I will, if you tell me, just let me…” 

And she relaxes against him, his fingers stroking her clit slow and soft, paying attention to her body, learning her new needs, not in any hurry, happy to kiss her shoulder, to kiss her lips when she cranes her neck to search for his mouth. He can feel her pleasure starting to build, and he follows her lead, the motions of her hips. 

“Dean,” she whines. “Dean, I…” 

“Go on, Baby. Take your time, we’ve got all night, we’ve got all morning… Whatever you need.” 

“Dean, oh. Dean. I love you. Dean.” 

“I love you too,” he says. “I love you, Baby. Fuck, you’re so beautiful…” 

“Dean, I’m about to, oh god, I’m- I’m…” 

Her orgasm steals her breath into a sharp, mostly soundless scream, shaking in his arms, pressing hard onto his hand, hips bucking frantically as she rides out the pleasure. He reaches for her hands, laces their fingers together, kisses her temple, then her lips, her cheek. They stay like this, wrapped up in each other, Dean unable to keep his lips off her skin, not able to stop breathing in the sweet scent of her hair. He can’t let her go, and she doesn’t seem to want him to. 

They fall asleep with the light on. 


	78. Seven

A week after she’s returned home, Pala still feels a little anxious around her family. She can’t look at Dean without a heavy feeling of guilt. Their conversations stop suddenly, the reminder of the last six months between them, the weight of everything she’s done resting on both their shoulders. It’s easy to see the joy in Dean’s eyes, but he looks at her sometimes like he can’t quite believe she’s real, like this is all a wonderful dream he’s about to wake from. 

She put him through hell, and she knows it. Worse still, she remembers vividly just how much she enjoyed it, the way she reveled in the certain knowledge of his ache. No matter what he says, no matter how he tries to reassure her, Pala knows there is nothing she can do to fix what she’s broken. 

She keeps all of this locked inside her, words she’s not willing to say dying on her tongue each time she takes a breath and begins to speak. What could she possibly say to set this right? How can she apologize to the man she loves more than anything, more than anyone? 

They’re on their way to a doctor’s appointment, Dean’s hand intertwined with hers as he navigates the slow and narrow streets of the medical district. He’s humming along with Metallica, his thumb stroking her skin as he drives, glancing over at her from time to time, his smile so bright it’s impossible not to smile back. He’s so excited, and even with all the crushing insecurities she feels, she’s excited as well. They’re going to get to see the baby today; it will be Dean’s first time, and it will be her first time to want to look. 

She tries to ignore that memory, the sterile little room in a hospital with an ultrasound technician giving her words of encouragement, pointing out her child on the screen, the fast pace of the baby’s heart strong and steady in her ears. While Sam and Becky are researching her theory that it was the baby that changed her back, Pala doesn’t need convincing. She’s known all along that this child was what kept her in check, kept her from crossing the few lines she didn’t. 

“You alright, Baby?” 

“I’m fine.” 

Dean looks at her knowingly, and she doesn’t continue. She’s never been good at lying to him, no reason that would change now. Her husband lets the moment pass, but she knows he’ll want to address it later. She’ll let him. The least she owes him is conversation. 

He keeps an arm around her waist as they walk into the doctor’s office, opening the door for her, a hand on the small of her back as he guides her inside, his touch gentle and sure. Their IDs have their own names on them, high quality fakes as she was never born and he’s been legally dead for ten years, and they’ve only been waiting fifteen minutes when “Winchester” is called out and he helps her to her feet. Her balance isn’t great, and now that she’s human again, her pregnancy is even more exhausting than it was before. 

She keeps her eyes on Dean as the doctor introduces herself, drinking in the sight of him. In the last week, they haven’t spent more than fifteen minutes apart, but it’s still not enough to make up for the half a year she spent away from him. Dean looks so serious, and she knows he’s memorizing every piece of information he’s being given. 

“Are you both ready to see your baby?”

And Pala keeps looking at him, listening as the doctor points out the head. His green eyes are brighter than she’s ever seen them, and he squeezes her hand tightly and looks down at her, grinning. 

“Look, Baby. Look what we did.” 

She looks. 

A few tears stream down her cheeks, the tiny face on the screen, even tinier hands and feet. They’ve been through a lot, her and this strong baby. 

“And the baby’s okay?” she asks. 

“Perfectly healthy,” says the doctor. 

Dean kisses her temple, whispers in her ear, “I love you.” 

Pala’s throat is too tight to speak, so she just nods, presses her cheek to his, staring at what they created together, what managed to survive her death and her hatred, and she can’t look away. 

_ Hi, _ she thinks. 

_ I’m a dad, _ thinks Dean. 

*

Pala keeps staring at the new pictures on the ride home, and Dean doesn’t blame her. He’d tucked one onto the dash, where he can glance at it during red lights. That’s his baby. His kid. He’s a father. Pala’s a mom. 

Dean clears his throat. “I know we decided to wait until they were born to know if they’re a boy or girl, but do you have any ideas for names?” 

She looks up, almost startled, and he can see shame and embarrassment spread across her face. He knows that normally, people have been thinking about this since the beginning, and it’s apparent that neither of them have had the time until just now to really take a second to consider this. 

“Whatever you want to name them, Dean,” Pala says slowly. 

They’re about fifteen minutes from home, and Dean pulls over onto the shoulder and puts the car into park, turns and props his knee up on the bench seat, reaches his arm out to lay his hand on her shoulder. 

“Hey. Talk to me.” 

Pala sighs, and he sees the tears she’s fighting back. He doesn’t comment on them, just scoots closer to her, tucks her hair back behind her ear, running his fingers through her curls to soothe her. They’ve been through a lot, especially her, especially this last week. 

“Stop that,” she says without warning. “Stop thinking that I deserve your concern or… Or anything! I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to hurt those people. I enjoyed every  _ second  _ of it. And I hated this baby until eight days ago, resented them, resented  _ you _ for getting me pregnant, and you can’t honestly think that after all that, I just get a clean slate? It doesn’t work that way!” 

“Baby, you don’t get to tell me not to love you,” he says calmly. 

He hasn’t seen her cry in a long time, not like this, the way she suddenly bursts into sobs, entire body shaking, but it’s instinct to pull her into his arms. She only resists for a second, and then she melts into his side, clutching his shirt, screaming her pain into the faded plaid. 

_ Oh, Baby. _

And, he doesn’t have words for this, for the burden she’s carrying, so he opens his mind to her instead. He shows her his time with the Mark, the rage, the want to break the bones of strangers for no reason other than they passed by. The way she looked on the pavement, trying to speak through the blood in her mouth, in her lungs. His guilt and hate and pain. 

_ I know. I know you’re hurting.  _

His horror when he first saw her with black eyes, in that security room, hours after she died, after he thought he’d lost her and their baby forever. His desperation to find her. 

How much he loves her, how he’s never been happier than he has been this week with her in his arms again, their baby kicking his palm. 

_ I never blamed you for any of this. I know what the Mark can do when it’s on a leash, how having that kind of darkness chained so tightly to your soul can twist you into something you don’t recognize. You came back to me, you’re mine, you’ve always been mine, and I’m yours, you said it even after you changed. We’ll always find our way to each other, Baby. I know we will.  _

Her screams turns to whimpers, and finally she quiets, pulls away to look up at him with red rimmed eyes and a tear-stained face, the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. 

“I was trying to tell you I loved you,” she tells him. “That night in the alley.” 

“I know.” 

He pulls her back to him, closes his eyes against tears of his own. 

“I’m so sorry, Dean.” 

“I know that too. You don’t have to be. Can’t you see? Just… Just let it go, Baby. Just be my Baby again.”

He knows it’s not as easy as that, even as he wishes it were, but he feels her relax against him, head on his shoulder as he kisses her forehead, and he thinks, maybe, it will be one day. 

*

“I’ve got some lingerie from when I was pregnant that might fit you,” Becky offers later. “But I think your boobs are probably bigger than mine.” 

Pala raises an eyebrow. “I remember your pregnancy boobs. They were huge.” 

“You looked at yours lately?” 

Pala laughs, lifts her cup of decaf to her lips and takes a small sip. 

“I’ve never worn lingerie,” she admits. “Dean just likes it when I wear his shirts.” 

Becky nods. “Men always love that.” She lowers her voice, leans in close to whisper, “I googled plaid lingerie once.” 

“Becky!” 

“What? There’s a theme to the wardrobe around here. I’m the only one who wears something other than plaid and solids.” 

“We weren’t all made to wear floral, Becky.” Pala shakes her head, a fond smile on her face. 

“You could wear whatever you wanted. And I’m serious about the lingerie. We could go shopping, if you think you can keep your husband away from you for that long.” 

Pala follows Becky’s gaze across the room, where the brothers are playing a game of cards to pass the time, Robert in his father’s lap, watching his dad and uncle with great concentration. She lays a hand across her stomach, curious about the life that she’s carrying. 

“You really don’t want to know if it’s a boy or a girl?” 

“It’s… It’s easier this way. There’s a lot that just happened, and it’s kind of exciting, wondering. I didn’t…” 

Pala hesitates, ashamed of herself. Becky was excited about Robert from the second Missouri unceremoniously announced that the blonde was pregnant. Pala’s only had two weeks to adjust to the excitement, which comes with a high price tag of self-loathing. 

Becky curls her fingers around Pala’s wrist, and when she meets the soft green gaze, it has nothing but kindness for her. 

Pala says, “My brother won’t even look at me.” 

“Sam loves you. He’s just not sure what to say.” 

“I hated my baby,” she whispers. 

“You don’t anymore,” Becky whispers back. “That’s all that matters. No one said motherhood was easy. And that wasn’t you. Not really.” 

“But it was. Sometimes… Sometimes I’m afraid that’s the real me. That whatever the Mark did when I… when I died… That’s the person I am deep down.” 

“Pala…”

“Becky, what if I’m really a monster?” she asks, afraid of the answer. 

It’s a quiet evening in her home, and the red of Cain’s brand stands out against her golden skin, forever damning her, an evil living right next to her soul. 

“I know a thing or two about monsters,” Becky says quietly. “Jimmy… Jimmy wasn’t a man at the end.” She takes both of Pala’s hands in her own slim ones, cool and smooth to the touch. “And real monsters, Pala, they don’t care what they are. They don’t feel pain over the hurt they’ve caused. The real you, sweetheart, the real you would never hurt anyone or anything that didn’t have it coming to them. You’re my best friend. You’re my sister in every way that matters. And you’re the bravest, kindest, most loving woman I’ve ever known.”

“Becky.” 

“I mean it. We can’t be held accountable for what we do when we’re not in control of our own bodies, and I think as far as excuses go, a Biblical curse is a pretty solid one.” 

Pala starts laughing, unable to contain herself, not exactly sure why she finds Becky’s defense of her quite as funny as she does, but it feels good to laugh like this, and Becky joins in, the two of them loud enough to gain their husbands’ attention. 

“Everything okay over there?” asks Sam. 

“Your wife is perfect,” Pala calls back. 

“Sure is.”

Pala turns back to Becky, who’s smiling brightly and tenderly at her. The blonde lets go of her hands to reach for her mug, leaning back in her chair, then glancing over at Dean, then purposefully letting her eyes drop to Pala’s chest for a brief second. 

“So. About that lingerie?” 

“Think I’m gonna pass. I can’t even shave my legs.” 

“I gotta tell you,” says Becky, looking over Pala’s shoulder and then back at her, “I don’t think Dean minds.” 

*

Later, in the quiet of their bedroom, Pala says, “If it’s a boy, we could name him John.”

Dean turns his head to look at her, not surprised by her offer. He’s considered it himself, but he answers, “Nah, if it’s a boy, he should have his own name. One he doesn’t have to try to live up to.” 

“And if it’s a girl? Should we name her after Mary?” 

“We could name her after you.”

Pala shakes her head. “Maybe we’ll decide when we see them.” 

“We could name them after Cas.” 

“Castiel would like that.” 

He turns on his side, lays his hand on the curve of her waist, leans in to kiss her soft and sweet on her lips; no matter how many years he spends with her, he’ll never get enough of this. 

“Do you want a boy or a girl?” Dean asks. 

“There can never be too many Winchester boys,” says Pala, a smile on her face as she reaches up to trace the curve of his cheek. “You?” 

“I want a healthy kid. I want you and me and the baby in this room together.”

She closes her eyes, smile still on her face, content, and she presses her head against his chest, safely tucked beneath his chin, and Dean holds her until they fall asleep and after. 


	79. Eight

The clock reads out  **10:47** when Dean opens his eyes, and when he turns to look, Pala is already awake, cuddled up close to his side, her cheek against his shoulder. He smiles, lifts his arm so he can wrap it around her, pull her in tighter, as near as her stomach will allow, drops a kiss to her forehead. 

“Morning,” he mumbles, still heavy with sleep, stretching his legs out, a few things popping in protest. He wonders, not for the first time, if maybe he’s a little old to be a first time father, but he lets that thought slide on past him. Too late to change things, and he wouldn’t even if he could. “How’d you sleep?” 

“You woke up every time I did,” she remarks mildly, tilting her head to smile up at him. “I have to pee all the time, and it’s not easy to get out of bed. You’re a good husband.” 

“Who’d have thought?” 

“Me. I always knew.” She pauses. “I just never knew you’d be mine.” 

“Wouldn’t be anybody else’s.” Dean yawns. He’s spent the last few weeks catching up on the sleep he’s lost since she left, and he’d feel worse about it, if he weren’t so damn happy all the time. “We still have a few things to get ready before they get here. Did you want to do that today?” 

“There’s still plenty of time,” says Pala. “Did I tell you Becky wants to throw a baby shower? You know, for all those friends we don’t have to come to it.” 

“You have friends. Charlie, Garth and his wife. Janine. Donna and Jody’d probably make the drive together, if we called.” 

Pala shakes her head. “We have pretty much everything we need, and I’m not really up for a reunion right now. Don’t want to explain where I was, why they haven’t heard about a baby until I’m almost ready to pop.” 

“Not like hunters have Facebooks,” Dean tells her easily. “And Missouri probably already knows what we’re going to name them. People get busy, people-“ 

“Die, become demons, then change back?” 

He shifts against the pillows, angling himself so he can look at her, raises his hand to her cheek. He wonders if they’ll ever move past this. If she’ll ever look in the mirror without seeing the memory of black eyes and blood on her hands. 

He misses, sometimes, when it was simple. Five years ago, when it was just the two of them and his brother, before any of them had ever heard of the Mark of Cain, when he was just learning how to admit he was in love, when the idea of his car turning human was weird and hard to work past. All things considered, that was the least of his worries. He doesn’t care how she began, only where they are now. 

He likes where they are now. Loves his life, being married to his Baby, their baby on the way. 

“If I’d never taken the Mark,” says Dean, “you wouldn’t have turned. So, if you really wanna blame someone for all those people you hate yourself for hurting, you don’t have to look further than me, Baby.” 

“Dean, no, that’s not what-“ 

“I know.” He sighs heavily, because now that he’s said it, it’s not like he can take it back. It’s not the first time he’s thought about this. “I was so hotheaded, I didn’t think about the consequences. Sam’s always been better at that than me.” 

“Not even close to true. Nobody’s good at that in this family, not even Becky, and she married in.” 

Dean snorts in amusement, brushes a stray curl out of her eyes. “You know what I mean, Pala.” 

She looks down at the brand just beneath her elbow, and Dean presses his palm against it, curls his fingers around her slim forearm. 

“You’re mine. You don’t belong to this thing. After the baby’s born, we’re gonna find a way to get it off of you, I promise.” 

“And what then? We live with the fact that we damned someone else?” 

Very quietly, Dean says, “Better someone else than you. Why does it always have to be the Winchesters who carry the weight of the fuckin’ world?”

She doesn’t say anything, just staring at him with those perfect steel eyes, thinking, and Dean worries that he’s gone too far. He knows it’s selfish, to pass a curse onto someone else to keep his own family free of it, but this family’s been through so much, and his Baby- She’s been through more than her share of it. And yeah, he knows exactly what he’ll be doing if the only way they can get rid of the Mark is to find it another host; he knows the kind of darkness, the burden, they’ll put on that person. 

He wishes his shame were enough to stop him. 

“I don’t know why it’s always us, Dean,” says Pala. “But I’m tired too. And who knows, maybe Becky will find another way. She’s gotta be on what, page two thousand of her google search by now, right?” 

Dean laughs, and she joins in, dragging him in for a kiss; he goes willingly, fingers trailing across her curves, pushing up the hem of her nightshirt, 

when there’s a knock at the door, loud, insistent. 

He growls. “Come back later!” 

“Dean,” says Sam. “Get up. Crowley’s here.” 

*

Pala doesn’t have to be a mind reader to know her husband’s angry. It’s in every line of his frame, the tension in his jaw, and the not so subtle way he stands just ahead of her, physically shielding her from Crowley. While she appreciates the gesture, the truth is, even seven months pregnant, with the Mark, she’s probably more dangerous than he is. Or, she would be, if her ankles weren’t swollen, her weapon of choice weren’t in a lock box in storage and…

She frowns. She’s not used to being helpless. 

She takes Dean’s hand, steps out from behind him to stand directly beside him. Crowley smiles when he lays eyes on her. 

“Pala. Pregnancy looks glorious on you. I’ve brought you something.” 

“You’ve brought me a lot of somethings,” she says. 

One of the tables in the war room is covered with baby stuff. It looks like he’s replaced everything she burned in the cabin. Car seat, diapers… Right down to the breast pump. Pala blushes. 

“Top of the line car seat,” he tells them. “The best money can buy. There’s gift receipts for everything, so you can return it for cash, if Daddy would rather drink and gamble it away.” 

_ Motherfucker _ . 

Dean’s thoughts are dark and angry, and Pala tightens her grip on his hand, tugs him back when he tries to step forward. He stays in place, but he can’t keep quiet. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

“I assume my invitation to the baby shower was lost in the mail. You just can’t trust the post office like you used to,” Crowley says. 

“We’re not having a shower,” says Pala. 

“I would have thought that little blonde chit would want any excuse to throw a party.” 

“Leave my wife out of this,” Sam snaps, voice tight with frustration. “Why the fuck are you here?” 

“Language, Moose. Tiny ears. They say infants can hear everything while they’re in the womb.” 

Pala takes a deep breath. She knows Crowley well; she spent more time than she wanted with him. If he’s here, he has a reason. 

“I know you didn’t just come here to bring me a bunch of presents.” 

Crowley sits down at the table and props his feet up in a second chair, legs crossed neatly at the ankles. 

“Squirrel, why don’t you pull out a chair for your lady? Don’t you know that women in her condition get tired easily?” 

Pala can feel when the sting hits her husband. Dean, always so worried about not being good enough, about not being able to take care of his family, when he’s singlehandedly been keeping the Winchesters going since he was four years old, takes Crowley’s insult without a single word, but she can feel the flinch. 

“Stop it,” she hisses. “You might be the king in Hell, because a bunch of bitch demons gave you the throne when the devil lost his prize fight with my little brother, but here, you’re nothing but a pain in the ass salesman. I can stand on my own two feet, and if I couldn’t, Dean would carry me if he had to. Stow your shit.” 

Crowley whistles low, claps slowly a handful of times. “Beautiful speech, darling. Tammy Wynette would be proud of you, standing by your man like that.” 

She sighs, suddenly very tired, but she plants her feet, crossing her arms across her chest. “Get to it, Crowley.” 

“What, a loving uncle can’t come visit his unborn niece or nephew?” 

“Of course a loving uncle can,” says Pala. “So, why are you here, when you’re neither loving nor an uncle?” 

“Words hurt, Pala.” 

“Crowley,” Sam warns. “My sister has better things to do than listen to your feelings. Why are you  _ here _ ?”

Pala looks over in surprise. She’s been home about a month, and in that time, she’s barely spent any time with Sam. They haven’t been alone for even one second, and she figured he resented her for what she put Dean through, not that she could blame him. Hearing him call her his sister brings forth warm rush of affection that has tears pricking at her eyes. She turns into Dean, burying her face in his chest, and he wraps his arms around her, confused and concerned. 

“M’fine,” she murmurs into his shirt, soft enough that only he can hear. “Hormones.” 

_ Oh, Baby.  _

“I’m here because one of my associates is about to add a new member to her family. It’s an important milestone, and I wanted to check on her. She’s recently gone through some changes. I was curious to see how she’s been adjusting to humanity.” 

Pala steps out of Dean’s embrace, his hand drifting to the small of her back, and she glares at the King of Hell, furious. 

“I’m fine,” she says. 

“I’m glad to hear that. We have some business to discuss, but of course, that can wait until after the baby is born. You may be human again, Pala, but you’re still under contract. You owe me a favor, and that hasn’t changed. I just wanted to remind you of that.” 

“I haven’t forgotten.” 

“I just wanted to make sure.” Crowley gets to his feet without preamble. “Congratulations on the new Winchester. Will you be naming it John or Mary?” he asks, derision rich as brandy in his tone. “I need to know what flavor bubblegum cigars to buy.” 

Pala clenches her fists, need rising up, the Mark seeming to come alive with her anger. A knowing smirk rises on the demon’s face. 

“Ah, there’s the Mrs. Winchester I know. Tell me, Pala, how long do you think you can keep your little problem under control?” 

“Not long if you stay here,” she tells him. “Just remember, Crowley, I can’t do you a favor if you’re dead.” 

His smirk widens into a grin, and he holds up his hands in surrender. “I’ll see you when your maternity leave is up.”

*

It’s driving Pala crazy, not talking to Sam. 

He’s not going out of his way to avoid her, but they’ve managed to keep each other at arm’s length, tiptoeing around each other with great politeness. She can’t stand it. Sam believed in her from the first second she appeared five years ago, accepted her before Dean did, and has had her back every day, even when he caught her in the biggest lie she’s ever told, even after she put his big brother through the worst she could come up with, going against the King of Hell to keep her safe. 

She leaves her husband asleep in bed. She’s in her third trimester now, heavy and awkward full-time, but she moves as gracefully as she can manage, walking barefoot down the hallway to wait for Sam in the kitchen. It’s still early, and she knows he’ll be back from his run before very much longer, so she makes a pot of coffee for him and pours herself a glass of Becky’s almond milk. 

Pala leans back against the counter, contemplating cooking breakfast, but she doesn’t want to wake the rest of her family just yet. The smell of bacon is more effective than an alarm clock for Dean, and Becky’s a light sleeper, and Pala’s not coordinated enough anymore to get the pan from beneath the stove without making more noise than she means to. 

She makes Sam’s coffee, a splash of milk and one sugar. As she stirs, she hears the door open and close, footsteps on the stairs, and she turns around, cup in hand, waiting for him when he walks through the doorway to the kitchen, caught like a deer in the headlights. 

“I made your coffee,” she says, offering it to him, an olive branch, saying what she won’t. 

_ Please. Please, be my brother again. _

“Thanks.” 

Sam takes a seat at the table, but she remains standing, waiting for an invitation to join him. She isn’t sure how well this is going to work, feels a bit like she’s cornered him, and that’s not what she wanted to. 

“Becky and I think we figured out how the baby turned you back,” he offers out of nowhere. “We found this article about stem cell research, how fetuses in the womb have affected their mothers’ health for the better. You can read it, if you want to.” 

“That would be great.” She doesn’t add that it’s not really necessary, but it’s nice to have something to back up her claim. “Did the article… Do you still think the baby-“ 

“I shouldn’t have said that to Dean,” Sam interrupts. “I think the baby’s just a baby, and I think we’re back where we were before you took that bullet to the heart.” 

His words are harsh, sharp with pragmatism, and she’s starting to regret waiting for him here. 

“Sam…” 

“It wasn’t just Dean,” he says. “It was Becky too. She cried every night for weeks.” 

“I’m sorry.” Pala doesn’t know what else to say, doesn’t know how to ask for forgiveness for so much, when she can’t even forgive herself. 

“You don’t have to apologize. It wasn’t you. I just- I missed you, Pala. You’re my sister, my best friend. You were dead, and then you weren’t, and I had to watch the rest of my family fall apart. My wife, my brother, and my kid, who didn’t even know he was missing out on a cousin who was gone before they ever were really here. And no matter what I did… I missed you every day. Things would get to be too much, and I’d find myself thinking how I wished you were here to help, how if you could help me look, I’d find what I was looking for. But I was looking for you.” 

“Sam.” 

“And I didn’t want to step in on you and Dean, or you and Becky. I said what I said about the kid, and it set me apart. Dean and I had one of the biggest fights we ever had- He damn near broke my nose.” Sam shakes his head, takes a sip from his coffee mug, his light brown eyes lost in the past, in regret. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t think that for long. I just- I saw my big brother on his knees in a parking lot, and I’d seen so many crime scenes, and I jumped to the wrong conclusion. It was stupid.” 

He sets his coffee cup down, and Pala doesn’t open her mouth, not trusting her voice not to break. She’s not sure how she thought this conversation would go, but it’s taken a turn she didn’t expect. All this time, she’s stayed away from Sam, thinking that’s what he wanted, not realizing that he’s been doing the same. Her brother gets up and walks across the kitchen floor to stand in front of her. He lays his hands on her shoulders, tries to smile, but it’s small and sad, and she raises her own hands, mirroring his action. 

“I am so sorry, Pala,” says Sam. “I want to be there for my nephew. Or niece. That’s gonna be my kid’s cousin, my family. I should have said it before, but I’m glad you’re home.” 

“Sam.” 

“I love you, Pala. And whatever happened out there, it doesn’t matter. I know how much you love Dean and Becky, I know you’d never hurt them.” He pauses. “You’re not the only one who ever ran around without a soul. If you ever wanna talk… I’m here.” 

She grabs for him without thinking, pulling him into a hug by his shirt, relief coursing through her when he hugs her back just as fiercely. 

“Soon as I heal up, I’ll be out there running with you again, but you’ll have to take it easy on me.” 

“Sure thing,” says Sam with a laugh. 

“I love you too, brother. Thank you, for Dean. For what you did while I was gone.” 

“You’d do the same for me.” He lets her go, then glances over at the coffee pot. “I’ll make you some decaf. Let me help you sit down.” 


	80. Nine

Since it seems that every baby book ever thinks it’s a good idea, Pala’s been going for half hour walks with Sam every evening. Dean doesn’t tag along, even though it makes him anxious to have her out of his sight; his brother and his wife are friends, and they’ve only recently reconciled in the past few weeks. He doesn’t want to intrude. 

The baby is due any day now, as soon as yesterday, as far away as two weeks. Dean can’t think of a single thing left to do, and he has a million things on his list. Becky is looking over that list, trying hard to hide her smile, but Dean sees right through her. 

“You think I’m an idiot.” 

“I think the bunker is already as baby proofed as it’s going to get. We’ve already done this once, remember?” 

“Yeah, I remember. But, it still feels like there’s something I should be  _ doing _ .” 

Becky sets his list down on the table and rests her hand on his shoulder, gives it a gentle squeeze of encouragement. 

“Normal people, out there- They have regular jobs that they go to five days a week, sometimes more. They do the ‘getting ready for baby’ thing around that. We’re not like that. It’s normal that you’re restless. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take this kind of time off. It’s a good thing. Right now, all that matter is this family. We could all use a break for a little longer.” 

Dean sinks back into his chair. He knows she’s right. He does. 

Becky hasn’t said anything further, but he knows that look on her face. She’s thinking a little too hard on something. 

“What is it, Becky?” 

“I… I don’t want to get your hopes up,” she says slowly. “But, I might have found something. About the Mark.” 

Dean sits up straight, onto the edge of his seat. “Like what? Like a cure?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe. I haven’t finished, and we can’t do anything until the baby is born, but-“ 

“But, you found something.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I did. Similar to the wall Death put up for Sam, but between the Mark’s influence and Pala’s soul. It’s… It’s complicated, and it was  _ never _ intended for this. Like. Ever. But, I mean, the right witch, the right mix of spellwork… I think it could be done. I think it could hold long enough for us to find a better solution. We can’t leave the Mark on her forever, even with a wall or whatever, but-” 

Dean’s on his feet, yanking Becky to her and into a bone crushing hug. His voice is tight, thick with emotion. 

“ _ Thank you, Becky. _ ”

“I love her too, Dean.” 

He doesn’t reply, just hugs his sister tighter, breathing easier than he has this entire year. There’s a way out, a way to make things easier on Baby until they can fix this. His entire family is safe and with him. It’s all going to be alright.

For the first time in a long time, Dean says a prayer of thanks. 

*

Pala’s on her side, waiting for Dean to join her in bed, head spinning with the news. As much as Pala doesn’t trust witches, she’s willing to gamble, to take a chance on one if it means the darkness inside her will shut up and go to its own fucking room for a little while. She props her head up on one hand, smiles when Dean walks back into their bedroom. 

“Hey,” she says. 

“Hey, Baby. Light on or off?” 

“On.” 

He slides between the sheets, slides his arms around her, and kisses her deep and slow, their legs tangling together. Pala moans into his mouth, pulls him close to her, fingertips across bare skin, strong muscles beneath her palms. It’s getting more and more difficult to make love, but Dean’s clever, patient, and they have a lot of time to make up for. She thinks, with the part of her brain that isn’t preoccupied with her husband’s mouth and hands and body, that she shouldn’t feel this sexy when she’s this round, but Dean has this amazing way of touching her, of making her feel like he’s never wanted another woman as much as he wants her. 

It doesn’t hurt that when they’re like this, his mind is even more bare to her than it usually is, and she knows it’s true, she’s the only one he wants and the only one he’s ever wanted this much. 

He’s just undone the last button on her shirt, sliding it back from her shoulders, when her water breaks. 

*

Becky’s hands are always cool and soft, and while Dean’s off grabbing a cup of coffee at Pala’s insistence, those cool, slim hands are between Pala’s hot, clammy ones. 

Three hours into labor, and Pala is currently in between contractions. Her sports bra is stretched to the breaking point of the spandex across her breasts and belly; the hospital staff offered her a gown, but didn’t force it on her, for which she’s grateful. They have the TV on in the background, some late night infomercial that’s oddly soothing, promises of a better future available for the low, low price of nineteen ninety-five. 

Becky says, “You’re doing great.” 

“I feel like a beached whale.” 

“I promise, you don’t look like one.” 

“Thank God. I’m hoping I look drop dead sexy while I’m doing this.” 

“It’s a wonder Dean can keep his blood flowing to his brain, you look so fucking hot.” 

Pala laughs, shakes her head back and forth. “Ice chips?” 

“Right here.”

Becky hands her the cup, and Pala crunches on a few, rubs her hand over her stomach. Her baby will be here, hopefully sooner rather than later, and she can’t quite believe it. A quick glance at the clock tells her that the next contraction will be here in approximately two minutes. 

“You had a kid,” says Pala. “How did you get through this?” 

“You were there. I had Sam, you, and Dean. Other than that, I have no idea how I did it. Couldn’t have done it without the three of you.” 

Pala squeezes Becky’s hand. 

*

“You’re doing great, Baby.” Dean pushes the hair back from her forehead, her curls damp with sweat. “They asked me again if you’re sure you don’t want an epidural.” 

“I’m sure.” 

He brushes his knuckles against her cheek, thumb stroking the soft skin beside her eye. 

“It won’t hurt the little guy. Or girl.” 

“I know. But, this seems right.” 

She tenses up, grabs his hand and intertwines their fingers, hard, her knuckles and his turning white from the strain. Pala grunts with the pain, face contorted, and Dean watches, helpless to do any more than that, holding on as tight as she does. He’d give anything to do this for her. 

“Why?” he asks afterward. “Why does this seem right?” 

“You won’t like it,” she says. 

“Tell me.” 

“Because I hurt a lot of people. And because, it’s human. Women have been giving birth without pain killers for thousands of years. Now, it’s my turn.” 

“Pala, you don’t have anything to prove.” 

“Maybe not, but I have plenty to repent for.” She sighs, and he brings her hand to his lips, kisses her fingers. Pala says, “I know you don’t like it. I’m sorry. But, I want to do it like this. Becky did it. So can I.” 

And Dean knows, there are some things he’ll never understand about his wife, about what it’s like to have started life as an object, but he understands guilt just fine. 

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. Not to me, not to this baby. If you want-“ 

“I don’t. Really.” She smiles then, unexpectedly. “They said I couldn’t do this. That I could never give you a child.” 

Dean smiles back, sits up in his chair so he can touch his lips to hers, salt flavoring their kiss. 

“Yeah, well, they don’t know you like I do.” 

*

Castiel appears without warning, seven hours into her labor, and Pala momentarily forgets her discomfort at the sight of her old friend. 

“Castiel!” she says, opening her arms, reaching for him, and he steps next to her, wraps his arms around her shoulders. 

“I can ease your pain,” he offers. “You look like that would be beneficial.” 

Pala smiles. “That’s not necessary. But thank you. Where have you been?” 

“I would have been here sooner, but I’ve had a lot to attend to. Promises I’ve had to keep. But, I could not miss this.” 

Dean says, “I’m glad you’re here, man.” 

“I couldn’t find you, Pala,” says Castiel. “For a long time, I searched for you.” 

She winces, then admits, “It’s not that hard to hide from angels, if you know what to do. Crowley knew what to do.” 

“It’s alright, Pala. I’m just happy to see you now. Happy to see another Winchester into the world.” 

Tears spring to her eyes at the sincerity in his voice. It’s been such a long time since she’s seen her first friend, and she takes his hand, smiling at him. 

Her smile fades when the next contraction hits. 

*

“Okay, Mrs. Winchester. This is it.”

The guard rail on her bed has been dropped, and Dean has wedged himself next to her on the narrow mattress, an arm around her shoulder, her hand in his. She’s shaking with exhaustion, from the aftershock of the last contraction that ended only seconds ago. They’re seconds away from meeting their child. 

“I’m so proud of you,” he says. “You kicked ass.” 

“Not done yet,” she says through clenched teeth, but when she looks at him, he finds nothing but love in her eyes. 

Dean presses a kiss to her forehead. “Ready to meet our kid?” 

“Been ready.” She takes a deep breath. “I love you, Dean.” 

“I love you too.” 

He feels the strength in her as she pushes one last time, her focus complete and awe-inspiring as she brings their daughter into the world. 

“It’s a girl,” Dean tells his wife, whose eyes are still clenched shut when she sinks back against his side, staring at the tiny, screaming infant in the doctor’s hands. “She’s beautiful. Like you.” 

“She’s stubborn like you.” 

Dean laughs and kisses the top of his wife’s head, watching as the nurse cleans his child, waiting, aching to hold his daughter. 

“We have a girl,” says Dean. 

Pala sits up a little, reaching for their baby, who is still screaming. The nurse lays her in Pala’s arms, and she quiets almost instantly, seemingly recognizing her mother, and Dean palms the back of his daughter’s head. She’s so tiny, with a headful of light brown hair, the same color his was when he was born. 

“She looks like you.” 

And then their daughter opens her steel colored eyes and looks at them. 

“No,” says Dean. “She looks like you.” 

“She has my eyes,” says Baby, voice choking on a soft sob. “She has my eyes, Dean.” 

Their daughter is staring at them just as intensely as they’re looking at her, her tiny head cradled in Dean’s palm, snuggled against Pala’s breasts, wrapped up in a tiny white blanket. He’s never seen a more beautiful baby. She’s perfect, a tiny fist resting just over Pala’s heart. 

_ My daughter. I have a daughter.  _

“What are we going to call her?” asks Pala, and then there are two sets of steel eyes looking up at him. 

He’s never felt this kind of joy before.

*

Sam and Becky step cautiously and quietly into the room a little while later, their excitement barely contained, Castiel a beat behind them. Dean looks up at the three of them, then back at Pala, who nods, smiling wide. 

“Sammy, I’d like you to meet my daughter. Abigail Rose Winchester.”

*

Pala can’t remember being this sore or this tired or this happy in her entire life. 

There is a bouquet of pink roses next to her bed, a gift from Becky and Sam. Robert had cooed at his new cousin, touching her arm with one tiny chubby hand. Castiel cradled Abigail tenderly in his arms, the two of them staring at each other, almost without blinking, for several long minutes before he returned her to Pala, congratulating and then apologizing with the need to return to Heaven. It’s early afternoon, and she needs to sleep, but she can’t stop memorizing the sight of her daughter’s face. 

“Abigail means ‘a father’s joy,’” she explains to Becky quietly, watching her husband rock their baby.

“That’s definitely a perfect fit,” the blonde agrees. 

“And, of course, Rose is for you. In case you didn’t want to believe it.” 

“Oh, Pala.” 

Becky crushes her into a hug, and even though it hurts a little, her muscles still aching with exertion, Pala doesn’t want to let her go. 

“She’s perfect, Pala. Sam’s taken at least a hundred pictures already. I’ll have them printed before you come home. He got one of the three of you together- It needs to be framed.” 

“I can’t wait to see it.” 

It feels like her entire heart is in the armchair next to her bed, her soulmate and her daughter, and she loves them both so much, more than she ever imagined she could. She takes Becky’s hand. 

“I’m a mom. I have a family.” She turns her head to look at her best friend and says, “My daughter has my eyes.” 

“If you ever doubted you were human,” Becky replies softly, “you can’t anymore.” 

Pala begins to cry silently, and Becky seems to understand, just wipes the tears away with a smile. 

*

Late in the evening, Pala convinces Dean to go get some food that isn’t from the hospital cafeteria. 

“Go grab a burger. Hell, grab one for me too. Take your time, I need to take a nap.” She looks at the tiny cradle that Abigail is asleep in. “She’s got the right idea. It’s been a long day.” 

Dean leans over her to kiss her, lips lingering against hers. 

“I love you, Baby.” 

“I love you. But, I’m serious about the burger.” 

“Don’t worry. I’m gonna take good care of both of you.” 

“You always have.” 

Dean smiles, kisses her again, then walks over to Abigail, bending down to kiss the top of their baby’s head. 

“Daddy’ll be right back.” He grins at Pala. “Think she wants a burger too?” 

“Well, she is your kid…” 

He laughs, then grabs his jacket off the armchair and walks out, the door closing with a soft sound behind him. Pala sighs contentedly, lets her eyes drop closed. She’s so tired, damn near ready to sleep for a decade, out before a full minute has passed. 

She dreams. She wakes, changing, skin tightening, body healing. 

A leash breaking deliciously throughout her being. 

Pala opens her eyes and becomes. 

*

Dean reads, 

_ She’s your joy. Goodbye. _


	81. Interlude: Homecoming

And so, with a heavy heart, Dean brings his daughter home from the hospital, in the car that her mother began in and that has seen every baby Winchester’s first car ride since nineteen seventy-nine. 

He rides in the backseat with Abigail, Sam driving with his wife riding shotgun. Nobody speaks. This should be a happy moment, but it feels more like a funeral march. Robert sits on the other side of the baby’s car seat -  _ my Baby’s baby, my baby _ , thinks Dean- and coos at his little cousin, her tiny fist wrapped around his small finger.

“Aba,” Robert declares, in a soft, sweet voice, staring at Dean’s child like she’s perfect, like the gift she truly is. He looks to his uncle for approval, eyes so like his father’s at that age. 

Dean nods. “That's your cousin. Abigail.”

“Where Pa?” the little boy asks, and Dean feels his heart clench.

He wishes he knew, her short note crumbled in his back pocket. Dean looks down at Abigail, his joy, and feels tears prick at his eyes.

Becky says, “Robert, don't-”

“It's okay, Becky.” Dean cuts her off, voice tight with pain. “He’s just a kid. Doesn't know.” To Robert, he says, “I don't know where Aunt Pala is, buddy.”

Robert frowns, but doesn't have the words he needs to comment. He just looks back down, and Dean does the same, taking in Abigail’s light brown hair, her sleeping face. He’s a father, and he might have raised Sam, but he doesn't know what to do.

Dean never imagined he’d be in this all alone. He had his own dad, the first time around, with his brother. 

The Impala comes to a stop in the garage, and Becky ushers Robert out of the car. Dean doesn’t move, just stares at his beautiful, perfect daughter. Abigail Rose Winchester isn't even a full day old. 

The door opens, and Sam lays a heavy hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“Come on, man. Let's get you both inside.”

“I don't think I can,” says Dean, not sure what he means, exactly. Not sure if he means he can't get to his feet, make his hands move so he can unbuckle his baby from her seat, or just generally go on for one more second without his wife by his side. 

“You're gonna have to.”

“I don't know how.” His voice is quiet, beyond anger, beyond fear. He turns, looks up at his baby brother, the man he raised, with bloodshot eyes. “I don't know what to do with her here, Sam.”

“We’ll find her,” his brother promises. “We’ll find her again, and we’ll figure it out. Always do.”

Dean sighs, and he hears his daughter give a small hiccough. He turns back to face her, and her eyes open, the exact same color of steel as her mother’s. It shoots through Dean’s chest like a bullet. 

But, it does something to him, snaps him out of the fog, and he knows just what to do. He coos at her, unbuckling the straps holding her in safely, and eases her into his arms, careful to support her little neck, her tiny head just barely filling up his large palm. He twists in his seat, ducks his head to step out of the car and into the garage. 

“I got you, baby girl. Daddy’s got you. Welcome home.”


	82. Part 2; Ten

“Do you remember me?” Pala asks. 

She’s standing behind a gas station she’s been at before, back when she was still knocked up, back when she thought she knew what freedom was. She knows better now, without Dean’s daughter – two days old, her mind stubbornly reminds her- inside her womb, curbing her appetite. 

The clerk who so kindly offered her help, who approached her car window and handed her the number of a church, is sneaking a smoke out back. The woman gasps in recognition. Pala grins. 

“You do.” 

Pala plucks the cigarette from her lips, and the other woman is frozen with fear, staring into black eyes as the demon drops the smoke to the ground and crushes it under her boot. 

“You will.” 

And like Pala had imagined, the song is high and sweet.

*

The clerk drove an eighties model Toyota, kept it more or less clean, and Pala left the woman in the alley, still breathing but barely. The Corolla cruises down the highway smoothly at seventy miles an hour, the lights of the other cars surrounding the Knight in a familiar way. Asphalt and exits are where she feels most at home, her two selves converging, the woman and the steel, as she changes lanes and lets miles pass by beneath the tires. She isn’t sure where she’s heading, and that’s just the way she likes it. She’s never been more free. 

Free of the Winchesters, free from the Impala’s frame, free from Dean’s seed in her belly. For the first time, she is on her own. 

The brand on her arm doesn’t burn hot the way it used to; the Blade rides in her lap throughout cities and states, content, no longer whispering or cajoling. Pala is, at long last, completely at one with the darkness inside her, with nothing to separate her or hold her back. 

Her phone buzzes in the passenger seat, and she picks it up in surprise, then narrows her eyes. 

**We need to talk, Mrs. Winchester** , Crowley writes. 

Almost nothing to hold her back, just the King of Hell. 

She tosses the phone into the floorboard. He can wait until the next rest stop, which will be a while. She just filled the tank. 

*

Dawn is breaking when she finally pulls into a hotel, somewhere in Florida, the Sunshine State. Her body shows no marks from her pregnancy, not even the hint of the stretchmarks that had shined across her swollen belly. She is completely unchanged, the same as she was before Dean knocked her up, and it is much like the last nine months never happened. 

Except for how irritated she is by the fact that she can’t forget them. 

Pala doesn’t own a swimsuit, but she’s in a small tourist trap town on the coast; she’ll pick one up in the morning and head to the beach, search out some fun. The cashier two states back has sated her for now, and though she knows that her need will grow quickly, she also knows that a party is an easy place for a fight to break out. 

She checks into the hotel room, steps immediately into a shower. She doesn’t have any clothes other than the ones on her back. When Pala had left the hospital, she’d wanted to put as much distance between Dean and herself as she could, and then she’d driven straight for that gas station, following her desire to hear the cashier’s song and taste it on her tongue. She hasn’t showered since before she gave birth, and she takes great pleasure in the warmth of the water, shampoos her hair twice, almost uses the entirety of the complimentary bar of soap. 

The towels in places like this are scratchy and too small; this hotel is no exception, but Pala doesn’t mind so much. She just wraps one around herself, a hip exposed, and sits at the table, phone in hand. She’d turned the GPS off immediately, but she’s still not sure why she took it at all, why she didn’t just grab a burner cell from a 7-11 or somewhere. 

Other than, well, 

Pala grins at the messages she has. She hasn’t really stopped to check them, with the exception of that one from Crowley while she was driving, but now, she takes a second to read through them. 

There aren’t any from her husband, which is almost disappointing, because some part of her would like to know exactly how deep his pain has fractured him. She can guess, though, without even speaking to him; Pala knows Dean better than anyone. 

However, there are several from Becky, a handful from Sam, and even a couple from Castiel. Becky’s pain is sweet and sharp, but Sam’s… Pala’s grin widens, her teeth bared. His pain always comes with promises. Whereas Becky writes, 

**Pala, please, come home. **

… Sam writes,  **We’ll find you; I’m not giving up on you again.**

_ Oh, little brother _ , she thinks.  _ I hope you don’t. _

*

Dean is sitting at the kitchen table, the baby monitor beside him, letting him listen to his daughter’s breathing and soft little sounds as she sleeps, when Sam walks in and sits across from him. Dean’s gaze isn’t particularly focused as he takes in the plaid of his brother’s shirt, the way his arms are stretched out in front of him. He sees without absorbing, drinks without tasting his beer.    


Abigail is only a few days old, and while Dean has heard more than one parent complain about their children not sleeping through the night, it doesn’t make any difference to him. He’s not sleeping anyway. He’s not even searching for her mother. Mostly, he’s just staring, only alive when his daughter is awake, memorizing the smooth face, the way she settles in his arms and stares up at him with his wife’s eyes, trusting him already.    


He doesn’t know how to find Baby, but he knows how to fix a bottle and change a diaper, how to sing his daughter to sleep. So, that’s what he focuses on, his broken heart softening at its jagged edges when Abigail yawns or waves a tiny fist.    


When his daughter dreams, the world goes a little fuzzy, losing purpose. He’s shell-shocked, unprepared to reenter the nightmare he’d thought was finally over.    


“Dean.”    


He clears his throat. “Yeah.”    


Another swallow of beer, and he forces himself to look up, meet his brother’s eyes. He finds hurt in the brown, a pain that mirrors his own, and it reminds him that he’s not the only one who lost Pala. It’s a heavy realization and a weight he’s not sure he can bear.    


“What’s on your mind, Sammy?” he asks tiredly after too many beats of silence.    


“We could try to summon Crowley.”    


“Tried that the last time she disappeared.” Dean rubs a hand over his face. “Don’t know how he’s getting around that spell, but it’s not reliable anymore.”    


“We could… we could summon her.”    


Dean jerks, something hot shooting through his spine. His instinct is to scream  _ She’s not like that! _ but she is; Pala’s a demon, and demons can be summoned. It makes him sick, to think it could have been that easy before, that it could be that easy now.    


“She’s not just a demon, though,” he says at last. “She’s a Knight of Hell. Is it even possible? Abaddon couldn’t be killed without the Blade, so who’s to say anything else that works with other demons will work with her? Plus, she’s got Crowley pulling strings for her.”    


“I get the idea that they’re not on great terms. Pala… Pala told me she spent more time avoiding him than anything else.”    


It seems impossible, that less than a week ago, his wife was here, taking walks with his brother every evening, talking about anything and everything. Four days ago, he laid down next to her to sleep.    


He can barely sit on the edge of their bed.    


Sam says, “We should at least try.”    


Dean nods. There’s no point in arguing, and there’s no point in not kicking over every stone they can. It’s worth a shot. But, the idea itself forms a tight knot in his gut. His wife, his beautiful, loving wife, is a demon that he can summon with blood and herbs.    


Or, maybe he can. Maybe he can’t.    


He looks over at the baby monitor, shakes his head and smiles.    


“You know, when you were little, I used to sneak into your crib. After Mom died.”    


“Dad wrote about it, in his journal.”    


Dean nods. “Yeah. He didn’t like it, but I kept doing it. It was like, if I could just stay close enough, I could keep you safe.”    


“You always did.”   


He laughs soundlessly, a punctuated breath of air, nurses at his beer again. His memories of Sam in a crib are more than thirty years old, but he can still remember it well enough, climbing over the rails to lay next to his little brother, promising to keep the monsters away. He’s made the same promise to his daughter, quiet in the privacy of their room as he’s walked the floor with her to soothe her back to sleep.   


_ Daddy’s here, I’ll keep the monsters away, baby girl _ , he’s cooed.    


Problem being, her mother is the monster, and he’s trying to bring her back.    


He needs Pala, his Baby, his soul mate; if only he knew how to save her.    


“I tried,” Dean corrects. 

*

Pala answers the door for Crowley and takes the bags from his hand. He’d seemed genuinely thrilled to hear from her, easily agreeing to bring her some clothes. She doesn’t want to think too hard on how he knew her sizes.    


“Wait here,” she says shortly, and disappears into her bathroom to change out of her maternity jeans that are falling off her hips and the shirt that’s far too large now that her stomach is flat again.    


When she reemerges, she finds Crowley’s set a bottle of liquor on the table and poured two glasses over ice. She sits across from him, crosses one leg over the other and settles back into the seat, sips at the scotch slowly.    


“I won’t kill for you,” she says.    


“You might change your mind. You still owe me a favor, and I think you’ll find I can be a very good friend to have.”    


“I won’t kill for you.”    


“Not even a witch?”    


That perks her interest, and a smile spreads across her face. She leans forward, curious.    


“Ah, so, the rules are different for witches.”    


“Why would you want a witch dead, Crowley?” asks Pala.    


“Do you really care? You owe me a favor, and I’m handing you a gift.”    


She raises her glass to her lips, swallows down more of the smooth liquor until her glass is empty, then reaches for the bottle to refill it.    


Crowley is never particularly forthcoming; it’s always a game with him. He’s a salesman, a negotiator, deadly in his ambitions. Pala isn’t afraid of him, but she isn’t stupid either. The King of Hell has the potential to be a problem. If he wants this witch dead, there’s a reason, and it’s one she needs to know.    


She’s not likely to get her answers from him, and so, she just smiles, raises her glass to him.    


“I do this, and we’re square. Obligation fulfilled, yes?’    


“Absolutely.”    


He clinks the plastic rim of his cup against hers, ice clinking and shifting in the pool of liquor. Pala waits, because Crowley always has more to say. Sure enough, after he’s swallowed, he opens his mouth to speak.    


“However, once you’re done, I’d like for us to meet, have a conversation about a possible future together. We could do great things, you and I.”    


There’s a hunger in his voice, a greed for more ground than the Hell he claimed for himself when Lucifer fell. Pala wonders what he thinks, exactly, she can do for him. Crowley is the type of man who likes to conquer and plan.    


She smiles. “I’m sure we could,” Pala replies agreeably.    


She wonders what she can do for herself. 

*

Pala is laying beneath an umbrella in the sand, watching the people from behind her sunglasses, picking them apart. Each person presents a unique melody, and she is trying to figure out which song she wants the most, figuring she’ll be able to claim two, three at most, before she has to skip town and kill Crowley’s witch.    


Her phone buzzes on the cheap beach towel she bought at the gift shop. She smiles when she sees Dean’s name.    


It’s a photograph of Abigail, no caption. There’s a pull in her chest, a pang she isn’t expecting, at the sight of her daughter. Her eyes shift black in annoyance.    


She raises her phone, snaps a photo of her own, and sends it back. 

*

Dean’s phone dings, and he opens it to find Pala’s face, teeth bared in a grin that is predatory, the swell of her breasts only barely covered by a small, black bikini.    


**I’m making so many new friends. **   


He forces himself not to throw his cell at the wall, slips it back into his pocket instead. She answered, which is more than he was expecting, and he’s not sure it means, that she hasn’t cut off all contact from them yet.    


Sighing, he scoops Abigail up, careful not to wake her, and settles himself back against the headboard of his bed, legs stretched out in front of him. The tight feeling in his gut hasn’t gone away, but he feels himself relax, just slightly, as he watches his daughter, her mouth pursing as she dreams. 


	83. Eleven

The witch’s song will be ancient, a hymn to days long passed, powerful and passionate, as fiery as the red of her hair. Pala looks forward to swallowing it down, letting it play through her veins, staccato and Gaelic flowing through every pore of her skin.    


Before that, though, she wants to know how Crowley knows a witch this old and why he wants her dead. To Pala’s way of thinking, a witch this strong could only be an asset to the salesman turned sovereign. There’s clearly history between the two of them, and she’s hungry for more than music. The Knight wants answers.    


Pala has been tracking the witch for three days, and she’s pretty certain that if she’s this aware of the redhead, she herself has been made. Someone this strong won’t be unaffected by the power of the Mark, which makes laying a trap harder than usual, but 

Pala doesn’t mind. The chase is just as fun as the attack, and she watches the witch’s stroll with sharp steel eyes.    


There’s a fire escape at the edge of the roof, and she uses that to make her way down to the pavement. The Blade is tucked into her boot, waiting patiently for its master; the teeth of the jaw almost cut through her thick socks, but for the first time in a while, Pala has a pistol pressed snugly against the small of her back, hidden under her shirt. She’s careful to stay at the edge of a group, following from across the street, clocking each step the redheaded witch makes.    


When the woman makes a turn into an alley, Pala smiles and keeps walking. There will be another chance, and she’s not getting caught in tight quarters with someone so powerful. She’ll need a way to mask her own darkness if she wants to get close.    


Pala pulls out her phone to text Crowley, asking for the ingredients to a hex bag, then scrolls through her contacts for her estranged husband, scrolls back up and hovers over her sister-in-law’s name. She grins.   


**Too bad you aren’t here; I could use your help, Becky. **   


She stops, leans back against a shop’s wall, hides behind the crowd walking past her. Sure enough, it’s less than a minute before the reply comes.    


**Happy to help you; let me know where.**   


Pala laughs outloud, catching the attention of the coffee vendor a few feet away. She smiles at him, then turns back to her phone.    


**Nice try. **   


She pockets her cell, ignores the next notification and approaches the cart, asks for a black coffee and reaches for a sugar packet. The man smiles back at her, makes polite chitchat, and she lingers, since there’s no one in line behind her.    


“What time do you get off?” she asks, stirring her coffee before she takes that first, dark and sweet sip. 

*

The hex bag can only dampen, not hide, the Mark, and Pala doesn’t like how it makes her  _ feel _ . She spends a solid five minutes looking at the most recent picture of Abigail before she burns the bag and shoves her phone into her back pocket, sighing in relief even as rage makes her come alive. The witch has taken up residence in the nicest hotel in town, and Pala charms her way into another song, less than twelve hours after the one from the coffee cart, palms the master key from the manager as he lays bleeding on his office floor. He’ll live.    


Pala takes the elevator, waiting patiently as it rises, stepping off at the tenth floor, and stalking down the hallway Room 1008, lets herself into the suite as though she has every right to be there and isn’t an intruder. She draws her gun once the door closes behind her and when the witch steps into her sights, she smiles.    


“What do you think the odds are that you can cast a spell before I pull this trigger?”    


The witch smiles back, but raises her hands in surrender. “I don’t know, dear, but I’ve no want to harm you. Why don’t you put that away?”    


Pala shakes her head. “Have a seat. We’ve got some things to talk about.”    


The Knight sits down on the arm chair nearest to her, and the witch drops gracefully into the one across from it. Pala props her feet up on the coffee table, crosses her legs at the ankles, and aims the pistol squarely at the witch’s forehead.    


“I came here to kill you,” she says calmly. “You had to know that, and you had to feel me coming.”    


“Aye.”    


“But you didn’t lay a trap.”    


“No, I didn’t, dearie. I told you- I don’t want to hurt you.”    


“And why’s that?”    


The redhead leans back into her seat, looking too comfortable for someone held in Pala’s crosshairs. The Knight smiles, lowers her gun onto the arm of the chair, willing to take the risk for the sake of the answers she wants. The witch could have started a 

fight before she even crossed the threshold; instead, Pala is sitting across from them in a temporary peace.   
However, she knows- This isn’t a witch like any other whose life she’s taken since the Mark, so she keeps her finger on the trigger, ready to aim and fire twice at the first sign of a fight.   


But, the witch keeps her hands still, palms up.    


“My name is Rowena,” she tells Pala. “I imagine you could change the world to suit yourself, and I- I would gladly be by your side. Loyal and devoted only to you.”    


Pala rolls her eyes, but she grins despite herself and leans forward, angling her pistol towards the witch.    


“And why, Rowena, would you do that?”    


“For the chance to touch your greatness, dearest.”    


Pala laughs, a sharp sound even to her own ears. However, as much as she hates witches, she admits that she’s more curious than blood hungry. She clicks the safety on, lays her gun in her lap.    


“The King of Hell sent me to kill you. Why?”    


“He’s my son.”    


The Knight blinks, surprised, pieces clicking into place. Crowley’s reluctance to give her any information on the witch, the easy job – a gift, he’d said- to clear her debt. Pala thinks, about his ambition and her own growing ones, about the pictures in her pocket.    


“I have a daughter,” she tells Rowena. “She’s a week old.”    


“Oh,” coos the witch. “A wee, precious babe.”    


“She’s with her father. I didn’t want her.”    


“A smart woman always puts her career above her family, dearest.”    


Pala considers Rowena, knows there’s an angle being played here, but she decides to put aside old prejudices. Trisha is long dead, and Pala understands her better now. How the taste of chaos is like a drug, how much fun it is to destroy for no reason other than to know the suffering that’s been caused. Unlike Crowley, with his charts and business-like approach to Hell, Pala knows that true pain is senseless and can’t be measured by numbers.    


True pain is measured in sleepless nights and tears that won’t be shed. It’s in the weight of someone’s chest, across their shoulders when they force themselves to carry on when every second is agony. It is the song of a soul as it screams for mercy that won’t be given.    


She is a Knight of Hell, and Rowena is a witch that knows what Pala does. Life is meant to be lived, pain is currency to be spent as quickly as it is acquired. They have a lot to learn, to gain, from each other.    


The manager of the hotel won’t be in any shape to give her description for days, Pala muses.    


She says, “Let’s order room service.”    


Rowena’s eyes glow with excitement, and her mouth purses in a smirk that Pala finds charming. 

*

“Easy now, Aba,” Dean croons, rubbing a hand over his daughter’s back as he waits for the bottle to heat. “Daddy’s got you. You’re alright.”    


Abigail hiccoughs and nestles into his arms, whines quieting as he comforts her. Sam and Becky are in the library, staring down their computer screens, desperately searching for different things. Dean’s brother is trying to find a way to track Pala’s cell phone, growing more frustrated each time he can’t find it, her signal bouncing across the world. Meanwhile, Becky keeps hunting for a way to put the wall between the Mark and Pala’s soul, hunting for  _ any _ way to keep Pala from being influenced by the brand on her arm.   


Dean thinks it’s easier to juggle a baby and a bottle in his arms now that he’s an adult, Abigail a solid but easy weight to hold, and carries her across the floor and into the library. He sits across from Sam, who glances up from his laptop, tired eyes softening.    


“When’s it my turn to hold the baby?” he asks.    


“Don’t you have your own?” Dean teases, then looks down at Abigail, whose contentedly nursing at her bottle. “Where is the little guy, anyway?”    


“Robert’s napping,” says Becky. “At least one person in this bunker has to be on a regular sleep schedule.”    


Sam snorts, then closes his laptop. “We could all benefit from some regular sleep,” he says. “Robert’s got the right idea.”    


It’s a perfect moment. Dean has his child in his arms, his nephew safe and sound in their home, his brother and his sister-in-law smiling across the table from him. It’s easy to pretend that his wife is just on her way home from the store, that all three of their eyes are bloodshot only from lack of sleep. He lets his eyelids flutter closed, imagines for a second that he can hear Pala’s footsteps heading towards them from the garage. That his family is whole.    


His eyes opens, and he finds his brother’s gaze, sees the sadness and exhaustion in it. The moment passes, and reality returns.    


“Find anything?” he asks Becky, forcing himself to look back down at Abigail, to the only thing that’s holding him together right now.    


His phone buzzes as his sister gives her reply. Carefully, as he listens to Becky, he eases his cell out of his jeans.    


“I’m trying to tweak the wall,” Becky says. “So that I can do it, instead of having to summon Death or find a witch willing to deal with us.”    


“You think you can do something like that?”    


Dean taps in his passcode as he asks; it’s not that he doubts Becky, it’s more that he doesn’t know that she should. Sam makes a rough sound, and Dean can tell his brother isn’t thrilled at the idea of Becky working that kind of magick. His brother will do anything to keep his wife as innocent as possible.    


Sure enough, Sam says, “I can do it.”    


Becky doesn’t argue, not yet anyway, and Dean sighs at the text on his screen.    


**This hotel has great pie and a Jacuzzi. I know how much you love bubbles.**   


He can’t help himself, he taps out a reply,  **Just send me the address, Baby** . He wonders, not for the first time, what kind of game they’re playing. What kind of game  _ she’s _ playing. She’s been texting all three of them, and none of them seem to be able to stop writing back to her.   


“Pala?” asks Becky.    


“Yeah.” He sighs again, lays his phone on the table. “Still don’t know why….”    


He shakes his head, looks down at Abigail, whose bottle is about half gone. She’s beautiful, soft pink cheeks and intelligent steel eyes, staring back up at him curiously, even as she eats. He loves her, so much, more than he ever imagined in his wildest dreams. Dean never thought he’d have a child of his own, and he’s more than grateful for her. He wonders if it’s selfish to want to have her mother as well.   


“We’ll get her back, man.”    


Dean nods. “I read a couple articles- Looks like her work.”    


“Florida?”    


“Saw the same ones, huh?”    


Sam shrugs, almost apologetically, and says, “I had a feeling, but wasn’t sure. Don’t think she stuck around though.”    


“She’s too smart for that. She knows we’re watching, and with Abigail… I can’t.” Dean pauses. It’s the first time he’s said it aloud, what his brother’s known already. He can’t just chase his wife across the highway with a baby in the backseat.    


“We know, Dean,” says Becky. “Your place is here, with your daughter.”    


“I’ll bring Pala home,” says Sam. “She’s my sister. Abigail needs her father.”    


“Robert needs his dad too.”    


“And you’d do the same thing for me, if our places were reversed. Becks and I talked about this- It’s a done deal. You can’t go, you said it yourself.”    


Dean wants to fight. Pala is his wife, his responsibility. He’s not the kind of man to put what’s on his plate on someone else’s, especially not his baby brother’s. But, Abigail stretches in his arms, one tiny foot pushing against the crook of his elbow, reminding him that he has other obligations, that he is all his daughter has right now. His stomach tightens into a hard knot, and he swallows, blinks back tears as he looks between Becky and Sam.    


_ What if we can’t save Baby _ ? he wonders.    


It’s his deepest, unspoken fear. He’ll never be able to put her down, like she’s any other trash from Hell, and he can’t ask Sam to do it. They’ll never move past it, if his brother makes that call.    


“I’ll bring her home,” repeats Sam.    


It’s a promise: Dean recognizes the look, the set of his baby brother’s mouth, the tone of voice. He knows what Sam isn’t saying, just as Sam has heard what he hasn’t spoken. For better or worse, Pala’s going to skate on her crimes, until Dean decides they can’t let her anymore. Sam won’t make that call for him, won’t force him to kill his wife or do it himself. He’ll bring her back; he won’t take her away.    


_ We’ll save her, or die trying _ , Sam is promising.    


Dean wonders why every promise they make is sworn with blood.    


“Other hunters are going to pick up her trail,” says Dean.    


“We’ll just have to stay ahead of them,” says Becky. “I’ll keep them busy. There’s plenty of bad to go around. I’ll keep them away from her, Dean.”    


His heart clenches, a sharp pain in his chest, and he looks away from Becky, from Sam, to look at his daughter. Her bottle is almost empty, and he stares down at the trusting, sweet face. She seems unconcerned by the deception of her family, the con they’re running on the hunter community at large, all to protect her mother, his wife.    


“Thank you,” he says sincerely, undeserving.    


“Can I hold her?” asks Becky, and Dean nods, doesn’t look away as the chair scrapes across the tile and his sister eases his daughter from his arms into hers.    


Abigail looks up at her aunt, who coos adoringly back, rocking in place, and Dean knows, he’ll never be able to stop. No matter what Pala does- He’ll never be the one to end her.   


He’s just as damned as she is. 


	84. Twelve

Pala still hates witches: But, as it turns out, Rowena doesn’t like them much either, herself excluded. Pala can get on board with this.    


They cut across the states in a wild zig-zag, ignoring Crowley, hidden by Rowena’s magick and Pala’s knowledge of his court. There are witches to kill and room service to charge. Pala laughs at their screams, and Rowena smirks quietly, pleased.    


Together, they plot, they scheme.    


And, in the quiet hours before dawn, they talk about their children.    


They’ve opened the third bottle of wine when the sky starts to lighten, only the hint of pinks and purples beginning to cut across the horizon.    


“Fergus was a hard birth,” Rowena’s accent rolls through the empty house, the dead bodies soaking blood into the carpet. “I thought I’d die from the pain, but this was in a time when women often died from bringing children to the world. I imagine it was different for you.”    


“I didn’t think I’d die,” Pala says contemplatively, drunk but her hands are steady. “But, it was like fire cutting through me when Abigail finally came. Dean was by my side.”    


Rowena makes a quiet hum, sips from her glass. “Fergus’s father was in the house with his wife. I had only the horses for company.”    


Pala clucks, not sympathetic, not exactly. She remembers how safe she felt when she was in labor, with Dean by her side, how good he was. She wonders what it would have been like, if she hadn’t been his wife. If she’d been alone. She shrugs, swallows the sweet red wine. The coven has several bottles in their kitchen that they won’t be needing any longer.    


“I wanted her,” Pala admits. “When I was human. But now…”    


She pulls out her phone. Abigail is three weeks old today, and Dean, predictably, sent her a picture last night. She holds it out for Rowena’s inspection. The older woman makes a gentle, sweet sound.    


“What a gorgeous lass she’ll be,” says the witch. “With those eyes of yours, she’ll charm every boy she meets. Every girl as well.”    


Pala nods, but doesn’t have anything to say. Her feelings about her daughter are confusing. She’d thought of Abigail as Dean’s and nothing more, yet, there are these times before the sun rises, when the Mark is sated enough, that she wonders.    


She asks, “Did you ever think about your son?”    


“I didn’t have the bond you do,” Rowena says. “With his father. It didn’t bind me to either of them. Once Fergus was sold, I left. But, I did wonder, sometimes. I’d thought him dead for centuries, until I happened upon him, quite by accident. I wondered how he lived, how he died. It’s natural, even for a career woman, dearie, to be curious about the child she leaves behind.”    


Pala swirls the wine in her glass, the downs the last of it, and pours herself another glass, tops off Rowena’s when the redhead holds it out.    


“If you were me,” Pala begins. She doesn’t finish, doesn’t have to. Rowena answers her unasked question eagerly.    


“What is it you wish to do, dearest?”    


The Knight laughs, looks over at the dead witches in front of the couch. “This,” she answers. “But… More. What claim to Hell does Crowley really have?”    


“Ah, insurrection.” Rowena’s smirk is affectionate. “To do that, we’ll have to tie up a few loose ends.”    


“I owe Crowley a favor,” Pala says. “He’s not happy that I left you alive.”    


“I expect not. But, he’s not our biggest problem, Pala. Your husband is.”    


“I won’t kill Dean.” It’s said with a warning. “Or my daughter.”    


“Of  _ course not _ , darlin’. I’d never suggest such a thing! I’ve enough magick to keep us off the Winchesters’ radar for the rest of their lives, don’t you worry about that! No, no. The problem is your connection with him,” explains Rowena, with the patience one might find in a saint. “Your souls are still bound, Pala. Until that changes, you’ll always be held back, wondering about wee Abigail, about Dean and his brother and your dear Becky.”    


Pala looks at her phone, the screen dark. It’s fun to toy with her family, but it’s a distraction, and if she wants to make a grab for Crowley’s throne, she can’t afford any of those. Yet, she can’t imagine losing Dean, giving up the way they’re tied together. It’s as much of who she is as the Mark.    


“We’ll have to work around that,” she says at last.    


“As you wish, dear. But, if you change your mind…”    


“You’ll be the first to know,” promises Pala. Then, “What was Crowley’s first word?”    


“Oh, that’s been so long,” laughs Rowena, sipping at her wine. “He didn’t speak for so long, though; I thought he never would.”    


“And then he never shut up.”    


“Right, you are! He came up with such shite to say, always got into my things, but he learned so well. Had such a knack for hexes. I taught him everything I could, that boy.”    


Pala giggles. “He remembers it all,” she tells Rowena, one mom to another. “Crowley remembers everything you taught him.”    


The redhead is quiet for a second, then, “Aye. I imagine he remembers some things too well.”    


Pala thinks, wonders what her daughter will remember of her. “Rowena- Did you ever wish you could have brought him with you?”    


It’s the kind of question she’ll only ask this time of day, with blood still singing to her, a symphony of extinguished life on the floor, making her far more drunk than the wine, pink and pale blue cutting across the early morning sky. It’s Dean’s soul, forcing light into her darkness, keeping her the slightest bit human. She resented it, before, when she was pregnant, but now, she enjoys pushing the limit, curious how much her dark infiltrates his light.    


“Sometimes,” Rowena admits, soft, truer than she ever has been. “Sometimes, though I never loved him. Love is weakness. I swore I would never be weak again. But, sometimes- Sometimes, I wished I had him with me. Someone to teach. Someone to show the world to.”    


Pala unlocks her screen, brings up the last picture Dean sent her. Abigail is so small, and it’s such a big world holding them. There’s no limit to the things she could show her daughter, especially if she and Rowena take Hell. Abigail would be a princess.    


“I doubt Dean would let me have joint custody,” Pala says conversationally.    


Rowena replies, “I doubt he could stop you. Why, like I told you, I believe you can make this world whatever you want it to be. If you wish to have your daughter sometimes, you can. I’ll make sure of it. We’ll show her everything, and Auntie Rowena will teach her the old ways. She’ll be a force to be reckoned with, I assure you of that.”    


Pala smiles, looks out the window at the sunrise. “Aye,” she says, her voice not nearly as thick or rich as Rowena’s, but the witch smiles all the same. “She’s a Winchester.” 

*

Dean’s in the middle of his daughter’s afternoon nap when his phone rings by his head. He snaps awake, answering before he looks at the caller ID, looking over to the crib to make sure Abigail is still asleep before he speaks.    


“Hello,” he mumbles into the speaker, eyes closing again. He doesn’t remember the last time he slept, much less in his own bed, and he’s not thrilled about the interruption. However, his father trained him to always answer, no matter what, and it’s a habit he’ll never break.    


“Squirrel.”    


He’s awake immediately, and he sits upright, his feet hitting the floor.    


“Crowley,” he says harshly. “What do you want?”    


“Now, that’s just rude. We’re family, aren’t we? Uncle Crowley’s just  _ dying _ to know how the little tyke is doing.”    


“You leave my daughter out of this,” growls Dean, watching as Abigail sleeps on, unaware of what’s going on. “Why are you calling me?”    


“I’ve got a bit of a problem with your missus.”   


It’s the way Crowley says it that makes Dean straighten up, the way he’s trying too hard to sound casual and off-hand, as though this is a conversation they have every day. Dean gets to his feet and walks silently out of his bedroom, grabs the baby monitor off the desk as he passes by.    


“What kind of problem?” Dean asks, heading straight into the kitchen, grateful when he finds the coffee pot half full. He puts in two spoonfuls of sugar into a mug and pours himself a cup, stirs slowly. He doesn’t want to sound too eager, but he knows: If Crowley has a problem with Pala, they have a chance to find her.    


“She’s in breach of contract and taken up with a witch who could void it. I can’t have that.”    


“Pala’s with a witch?”    


Dean feels something sharp shoot through him, like he’s lost some part of her he didn’t know he could. Of all the things he expected, somehow, this was never a possibility in his mind. His wife has been the most savage towards witches, one of her biggest tells, the thing he looked for in every newspaper.    


“A very old, very tricky one, who I assure you won’t hesitate to stab her in the back, not that it would do any good. But, this witch could probably find a way to make death stick, given enough time and study of the Mark.”    


“And what do you care if my wife dies?” Dean manages to ask, feeling like he’s speaking with glass in his throat. “If you’re so desperate to have that favor done, why are you calling me?”    


“Oh, I’ll get my favor. I just thought you might like to know where I’m sending her.”    


He has to grab onto the counter, knuckles turning white with his grip.  _ Pala _ . He’ll know where she’ll be and when.    


“And then what, I owe you one?”    


“We’ll call it even, Squirrel. You get your wife back, and I get rid of a problem. Your wife is no longer an asset I wish to invest in. She’s become a liability. This is just smart business.”    


Dean closes his eyes, lets out a heavy sigh of relief, one he hadn’t expected to come so soon or at all.    


“Give me the address.”    


Crowley does. 

*

Sam is packed in twenty minutes.    


Dean looks down at the open duffel bag, a change of clothes and holy water and the demon cuffs, his brother’s pistol and extra ammo; he thinks,  _ I have to go. I can’t let Sam do this. _   


He’s about to open his mouth, about to tell his brother to wait, he’s coming with him, when Abigail’s cry crackles over the baby monitor. He stares down at it, torn, and Becky pats him on his shoulder and leaves the room. A minute later, her voice is talking over Abigail’s screams, quieting her.    


He doesn’t know what to do. His daughter needs him, and his wife is out there, needs him too, even if she doesn’t want him.    


Dean knows exactly what his dad would do. He knows, because Dad did it their entire lives. John Winchester would leave his kid behind and chase down his wife, and Dean idolized him every second of his youth. Those early lessons are ingrained, hard and deep, the instinct to love and love hard, beyond reason or sense or hope.    


Becky is singing softly, mumbling lyrics to some pop song Dean vaguely recognizes as his daughter’s screams soften to little sobs.    


He knows what Dad would do, but he isn’t his father.    


“I can’t go,” he says, defeated. “I have to go, but I have to stay.”    


“I’ve got this, brother. I told you.”    


“Dad would go after her. I feel like I should. But, I just- I can’t. I have to be here for Abigail.”    


Sam lays his hand on Dean’s shoulder, squeezes once, firm, comforting.    


“I’ll bring her home, Dean.”    


“Bring yourself home too.”    


Sam nods, and Dean yanks his baby brother in for a hug, crushes him to his chest. His guilt cannot be measured. Pala won’t kill Sam, probably, but whoever the witch is- He could lose his brother and his wife all at once. His insides scream at him to pack a bag, that Becky will be fine here with the kids, they’ll be gone less than forty-eight hours.    


His sister’s footsteps are what makes him let go of Sam, and when Dean turns, sees Abigail’s red little face, he covers the distance in three steps, takes her into his arms and kisses the top of her head.    


He can’t watch as Sam kisses Becky goodbye.

*

Pala doesn’t like Leviathans; they have no music. They are flat, burdensome things. No match for her Blade, and she takes what pleasure she can from their violence. It is the difference between three dimensions and two, between black and white and Technicolor. It is the same, but it feels different,  _ less _ , and she hates them for it, hates Crowley for sending her here.    


There’s an entire group of them, disorganized since Dick Roman was killed, running small, white-collar scams. Even now, there’s a hierarchy, but their plans are pitiful compared to the threat they once posed. Pala attacks viciously, works her way through the building methodically; Rowena has her own means of dealing with them, and they work separately, but within ear shot.    


Eventually, the floors and walls are covered in black, heavy ooze, and Pala breathes heavy, the smell of it vile and spoiled, like a sewer in the heat of July, but heavier, thicker. Rowena wrinkles her nose in distaste.    


“These are disgusting,” the witch says. “Fergus must be furious with you.”    


“He can be as pissed as he wants to be. We’re even.”    


Pala looks down at the Blade, dripping with black, and she narrows her eyes in irritation, frowning. It’s all  _ wrong _ , should be covered in red silk and humming. Rowena hands her a handkerchief, and Pala wipes off the jaw and handle, the cloth staining immediately.    


“Let’s go get cleaned up,” Rowena suggests brightly.   


The Knight nods, follows her companion out the front doors, but then stops short on the steps.    


“Sam.”    


“Pala.” He almost smiles, but not quite, and she does the same. She looks for Dean, disappointed when she doesn’t see him. Sam tells her, “I promised him I’d bring you home.”    


“Silly boy,” says Rowena. “Don’t you know you shouldn’t make a promise you can’t keep?”    


“Rowena, don’t-“


	85. Thirteen

Patience was never Dean’s best virtue; he’s never like to have time on his hands. Dean has always preferred to keep busy, and so, with the baby monitor nearby, he jacks up Becky’s car and starts changing the oil. He focuses on his tools, on the sound of Abigail kicking her blankets in her sleep, steadfastly ignoring his late father’s accusations in his mind. He wonders what both his parents, what Bobby, would say if they were here. If Mom would have understood why he stayed or if she’d have told him to go after Baby.    


He scoots out from under the car, waiting for the drip pan to fill, and seats himself against the garage wall, looking over at the empty space beside him.    


“Dean?”    


“Hey, Becky.”    


She eases down the wall to sit next to him, knocks her elbow into his, then lays her head on his shoulder. It’s quiet, just the soft static of the baby monitor.    


“Robert asleep?”    


“I put him down in your room. He likes to be near his Aba. I didn’t figure you’d mind.”    


Dean shakes his head. “I don’t mind at all. I thought I heard you open the door to check on her. Didn’t realize you had the little guy with you.”    


“He fell asleep in my lap, while I was reading. I miss when I used to read him bedtime stories.”    


He winces, but she waves off his concerns, bumps into him gently.    


“We’re family,” she reminds him. “And he’s not likely to remember a few weeks at age two. I’ll make it up to him, we all will.”    


They lapse back into silence, mirror poses, each waiting for a spouse, both terrified of a call that either will or won’t come. Dean’s never had to wait like this before, not since he was old enough to go on hunts with his dad, not since Sammy was old enough to come along. Sitting here, like this, he’s glad for Becky’s company.    


“I don’t know how you do this full-time. This shit would drive me crazy, staring at the same four walls day in and day out.”    


“I’m not a shut-in. Robert and I go into Lebanon, what little town there is, and there’s a few places close by. I have a whole life here, with or without Sam. This is my home. You know that- It isn’t like you never leave the bunker when we don’t have a case to research.”    


Dean nods. “But, to sit here, wait? Not knowing what’s…. If. I can’t. I should have gone.”    


“I think you did the right thing,” Becky says. “And it’s hard, but this is who I am. I take calls. I write books. I’m not a hunter.”    


“Think you earned your stripes in Florida,” says Dean.    


“I’ll tell that to my husband.”    


“Hell, I’ll tell him.”    


He flashes her a short-lived grin when she giggles. The levity doesn’t last long, it can’t, not with Dean’s phone sitting on the concrete in plain view. He isn’t sure which one of them wants it to ring more.   


“When Robert was born,” begins Becky, “Sam didn’t go on hunts for- what?- something like three months. You and Pala did them all, partnered up with others sometimes, if the job was too big for two people. We just always assumed- if you and Pala adopted kids of your own someday, somehow- that you knew we’d repay the favor.”    


He isn’t sure what to say: That this isn’t a quid pro quo situation, this is a family, they don’t owe him anything, thank you, that he loves her and his sasquatch of a brother, maybe they should all consider not going out on hunts anymore and opening up a few landlines-   


His phone lights up. It’s not a phone call. It’s a text message. 

*

Pala is furious, even with the sound of Rowena’s song still thundering in her ears, crashing over her like waves, making her hand sticky. She’s in the backseat of the Impala, her prison for so long, her hands cuffed behind her back.    


When it came down to it, she couldn’t let her brother die.    


She should have let Rowena sever her bond with Dean when she had the chance.    


“Dean’s gonna be mad that you got blood all over the backseat.”    


“I think he’ll let it slide this time.”    


She sighs, drops her head back against the seat, addresses the ceiling when she speaks. “Tell me something, Sammy. How do you think this is going to go? You cure me, and a year from now, I bite it in some fight with a chupacabra or something equally stupid and we end up right back here.”    


“We’re going to get that Mark off you eventually.”    


She rolls her head forward, catches his eyes in the rearview. “You can try. But, who says I want you to? Who says I want you to save my soul?”    


“Why’d you kill the witch?” he fires back.    


It renders her silent, because she doesn’t want to admit the truth, and she looks out the window, at the trees and barbed wire fences they pass. In the end, she made a split second judgement call, almost too late, after Sam was already on his knees and bleeding, seizing with pain. She hadn’t anticipated his recovery time being so short.    


“Pala, I know- My sister is in there somewhere. My niece needs her mother, my brother needs his wife, and my own wife needs her best friend. This  _ family _ needs you.  _ I _ need you. We’re going to get you back.”    


Quietly, she replies, “You might not like what you find when you do.”    


Sam doesn’t say anything, and she lets out a soft laugh.    


“Let me tell you something, Sammy. Once you scratch the surface, I’m going to tear you and Dean and Becky apart. No one’s ever going to be able to look at each other again, but we’ll all be stuck with one another, because  _ family _ is all the Winchesters know.” She turns her eyes back to him, kicks the front seat to force him to look at her. “Think about if that’s what you really want.” 

*

Dean feels weak, looking at her, hands bound behind her back, Sam’s hand gripped tightly around her elbow. Every instinct he has is screaming for him to cradle her in his arms, get her away from his brother and out of those cuffs, but he finds he can’t move. She’s so beautiful, and so  _ angry _ , her eyes flashing black and inhuman as she glares at him.    


“Hello, Dean,” she says.    


“Baby,” he manages, feels like he’s choking on the syllables.    


_ Please, just let me save you, I did it once, I can do it again _ .    


She just rolls her eyes as they turn back to steel. “Let’s get this show on the road, hubby. Unless you wanted something else beforehand? Ask your brother what it’s like to fuck a demon- Maybe he can give you some pointers.”    


Sam jerks her arm, pulls her away. “Come on, move it.”    


“Sam,” Dean growls, without meaning to.    


“I got it, Dean.”    


“He thinks you can’t handle your wife,” she teases. “Thinks he can  _ handle _ me better.”    


“ _ Sam _ ,” says Dean, reaching out to lay a hand on his wife’s arm, but she flinches away from his touch. “Sam, let me-“    


“Dean.” His brother’s voice is tight, reserved. His name is said forcefully, but it’s a plea.    


_ Trust me, big brother.  _   


And Dean does, but this is his wife. He has missed her every second for the last month, and he can’t let her go so easily, can’t let her out of his sight, too afraid she’ll disappear again somehow.    


“Why should Dean trust you, Sammy? You’ve been lying to him as soon as you learned how.”    


“Shut  _ up _ , Pala,” hisses Sam.    


“Becky,” Pala says fondly, but it’s a little too sweet, the kind of sugary that makes teeth hurt and leaves a bad aftertaste. “It’s good to see you.”    


“It’s good to see you too, Pala.”    


Dean looks away from his brother, to the blonde who has appeared next to him. She’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, which are tired, worry lines at the creases. She takes in what’s before her, then puts her hand just beneath Sam’s, shakes her head at him when he opens his mouth to speak.    


“Why don’t I take Pala-“    


“-to the dungeon,” the Knight supplies.    


“While you two talk?”   


Becky doesn’t give either of them a chance to respond, and Dean watches until they round the corner, then returns his attention to Sam. His little brother holds up his hands in surrender.    


“She’s going to try to tear us all apart,” Sam says. “We have to play this smart.”    


“This isn’t a game! This is my goddamn family, my  _ soulmate _ -“    


“You think I don’t know that? I’m the one who brought her back, Dean! But, that- That is not your wife. That’s a fucking Knight of Hell, whose only goal is to make sure that she causes as much pain as she can.”    


“And so you let your wife be alone with her?”    


“You know as well as I do that I don’t  _ let _ Becky do anything.” Sam sighs, runs his fingers through his hair, and when he looks back at Dean, the deep brown eyes are begging him to understanding. “Dean, we have to play this careful, because otherwise, she’s not going to be able to live with herself once she’s human again.”    


The response is on the tip of his tongue, acidic, cruel, but it dies at the reminder of what’s at stake. He sinks back against the wall, locks his knees to keep himself upright. This is yet another step, one of thousands that they have to take, and he curses the day he took the Mark and damned them all. This is all his fault, like it always is.    


Turning her human, that’s only the beginning.    


It’s what comes after that’s the hard part, where there are no definitive answers, no concrete next steps. When it’s just him between her nightmares and the darkness, and he’ll stand in its way forever, so long as he’s able, but.    


He wasn’t enough before. How can he be enough now?

*

Pala is bored. She has counted every line in the dungeon’s ceiling, every shelf, the books, the boxes, whatever she can see. She hasn’t bother to test the strength of the cuffs, because the devil’s trap has her bound anyway.    


Wherever the others are, they’re either not close enough to hear her calls, or they simply aren’t listening. She tilts her head back, hair falling down, far enough that she can tug at the ends with her fingers. She’s trying to stretch a little, uncomfortable from sitting for so long, in the car and now in here.   


She misses the sound of the footsteps, but the door creaks when it opens. She guesses at who it is without bother to even glance.    


“Hey there, honey.”    


“Well, hello to you as well,” says Rowena. “Are you just gonna sit there all day?”    


Still looking at the ceiling, Pala grins. 


	86. Fourteen

“Didn’t I kill you?”   


Pala lowers her head so she can look at the very alive witch, who is smiling at her with great fondness.   


“You sure did, dearie, but let us agree to let bygones be bygones, hmm? I should have known better than to put you in a position where you had to choose.”   


“And that’s that?”   


“I’ve come to rescue you, haven’t I? What else would possess me to walk into this musty bunker filled with people who would shoot me on sight, but my dear friend, Pala?”    


Rowena crosses the room, walking neatly over the devil’s trap as she pulls a pin out of her hair.    


“What’s your plan for getting me out of this trap?”   


“Why, magick, of course. Can’t promise it won’t sting a bit, but it’s better than being stuck in this gloomy place, now isn’t it?”    


Pala nods in agreement, sighing when her wrists are freed, rubbing the raw skin, then stretching her muscles. Latin drips from Rowena’s tongue, and she holds out her hand, signaling for Pala to go ahead. It’s uncomfortable, walking across the circle of the trap, feels like a rubber band snapping across her entire frame, but after a moment, she catches her breath. Rowena nods sympathetically, then touches her arm.    


“We best get out of here, Pala, before you’re missed.”    


She knows Rowena is right; whatever discussion her family is having won’t last much longer, and if they haven’t gotten the blood they need to turn her back yet, which would surprise her, it’ll only be a short matter of time. Yet, as she steps outside the door to the dungeon and to the left, to the quickest and quietest exit, Pala stops. She turns around, and Rowena does the same.    


“What is it, Pala?”    


“There’s something I want to see.”    


The redhead doesn’t argue, just walks beside her, dress swishing with every step, heels barely making a sound on the tile floor, which Pala admires. They move fast, Rowena following Pala as she leads them down the winding halls of what used to be her home, to her bedroom door.    


It’s cracked, light from the hall spilling into the dark, but Pala flips the switch. She finds her nephew sprawled across the middle of the bed on his belly, his soft curls framing his round cheeks, and past that, the crib that holds her daughter. Robert catches Rowena’s interest, a soft coo passing her lips, but Pala walks right past him, headed straight for Abigail. It surprises her, the strong urge that she can’t control to hold the baby, and she leans over the wood to lift her daughter into her arms, amazed that she knows exactly what to do, how to hold her, one hand under her head and neck as she draws her up and to her chest.    


Abigail yawns and blinks her eyes, eyes that look just like Pala’s own, and when their gazes meet, the Knight would swear her daughter smiles. It’s like the infant recognizes who she is, raising one tiny hand, fingertips barely brushing Pala’s chin.    


Pala knows, rationally, that this intensity she suddenly feels, is Dean’s influence. It’s the one human part of her she can’t stamp out, her connection with him, and so the connection he has with their child. And yet, she doesn’t care. All she can see is Abigail’s face, and now that she has her, she can’t let her go.    


She turns to face Rowena, who has seated herself next to Robert, a gentle hand on his back, and the redhead nods in understanding.    


“We’ll take them both,” she says.    


It’s a foolish thing to do. The Winchesters protect their own above all else, and to take the two youngest of the family is nothing short of signing a death warrant. Pala finds she doesn’t care. She trusts her Blade and Rowena’s magick.    


Dean will never stop chasing her, and Pala will never be able to stop running. He’ll follow her to Hell and back, if that’s what it takes, to get Abigail, to get  _ her _ . It doesn’t matter. She’s made up her mind. She didn’t want this baby, but she wants her now, for reasons she doesn’t understand. And Sam, Becky- They’ll be furious that she let Rowena have Robert, but she won’t deny the witch a second chance at motherhood when the redhead isn’t refusing her.    


The First Blade is in the garage, in the Impala, and that’s where they have to go. 

*

All of three of them freeze at the unfamiliar accent on the baby monitor.    


“We have to go now,” says Pala.    


They move, but it’s Becky who runs the fastest, the brothers flanking behind her, rushing for the hallway between the garage and Dean’s bedroom, where their children have been sleeping soundly. Dean doesn’t think about the noise they’re making, or what he’ll find at the end of this.    


_Abigail, Abigail, Abigail._   


They draw up short and sudden, Pala and unfamiliar redhead a mere fifteen feet in front of them. Becky gasps at the sight of a stranger holding her child, but Dean’s eyes are trained on his wife and daughter. She shakes her head.    


“Get out of the way, Dean. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.”    


“Pala, let’s just talk about this,” he begs.    


“There’s nothing to discuss,” says the redhead. “We’ll just be on our way.”    


“You died.”    


Sam’s voice is disbelieving, and Dean’s stomach plummets. A witch. This is the witch who almost killed his brother, and she’s holding Robert, his small head on her shoulder, asleep and none the wiser.    


“A smart woman always has an insurance policy against such things,” the witch replies primly.    


Becky says, in a voice that does not shake, “Give me my son.”    


“This wee lad is yours? Don’t worry, dear, I’m not going to hurt him at all.”    


“We’re not going to let you pass,” says Sam. “Give us our son.”    


“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Sam. He’ll be with his aunties, no harm will come to him, I can promise you that.”    


Dean looks at Baby, holding their daughter, thinks how two hours ago, he would have given anything to see this sight, but now, he just feels sick, and he pushes his way past Becky, gains a few feet of distance. He reaches a hand out, begging for just one  second of humanity in those steel eyes, anything to break this standoff. He prays, knows his brother is praying as well, to Castiel and God and all the angels whose names he remembers. Dean prays,    


_ Please, my daughter, my nephew. Help me. Don’t let me lose them. Don’t let me lose Baby again. _   


“Baby,” he pleads. “Baby, don’t do this. We can’t let you walk out of here with the kids, you know that. Tell her to give Robert to Becky.”    


“That’s not going to happen, Dean. You’re not going to stop us and risk hurting them. We can’t stand in this hallway all night.”    


“No, we can’t,” he says, taking another couple steps closer, hand still extended. “But, we can’t let you go either. Something’s gotta give, Baby.”    


It’s every nightmare he’s never had, a terror he’s never imagined. He’s standing in the thick of his family, with its biggest threat his greatest love. His daughter sleeps in her mother’s arms, still unaware of the danger.    


“Pala, dear,” says the witch. “We’re at a bit of an impasse.”    


“Don’t you dare,” hisses Pala. “They’ll let us through. It’s just going to take some convincing.”    


“Baby,” says Dean. “You’re going to have to kill us to get out of here, and I know you don’t want that. If you did, you’d already have set this bitch on us.”    


“Oh, what do you know, Dean? You knew me better when I was a car. Bet you wish you could still just put me in park. It was simpler when I was just an engine and a steel frame.”    


“That’s not true.” He shakes his head. “That’s not true, and you know that.”    


He can see the witch is growing impatient, looking at Pala out of the corner of her eyes, considering her options. It won’t take much longer for her to decide that it will be better to beg for forgiveness rather than wait for Pala’s permission to do what she’ll have to get them out of here.    


“I know you’re in there. I know some part of you cares, because why else would you have risked getting caught to see our daughter? You wrote that she was my joy, not yours, but here you are. You’re willing to fight your way out of here, just to have her.”    


“She’s  _ mine _ ,” growls Pala. “I told you once before, Dean- My soul may be dark and twisted and scarred, but it still belongs with yours.”    


“So, stay,” he says, stepping even closer, and she withdraws, holding Abigail tight to her chest. “Stay with me.”    


“No.”    


And Dean is at a loss, doesn’t know what else to do or say, isn’t sure what to offer her, how to get them out of this;    


there’s a flutter of wings, and the redhead turns to see Castiel, who drops her with a simple touch of his fingers and then closes his arms around Pala, who screams. Abigail wakes, but Dean is fast, faster than he’s ever been, taking his daughter from his wife, cooing as she cries out, as Becky catches Robert before he hits the ground. The blonde sobs, once, loud, hard, but then goes silent. Dean hears his brother cross the tile, sees him stumble to his knees beside his wife and child, but he has eyes only for his wife, the furious sight of her black eyes as she bares her teeth and struggles against Castiel.    


“When this is over,” she snarls at him, “I want a divorce.”    


And though he knows she doesn’t mean it, her words cut straight through him, and Abigail screams louder, no matter how hard he tries to soothe her. 

*

“Pala and the witch are secure,” says Castiel. “I came as soon as I could. I believe I’ll stay for the duration.”    


“Good to have you here, Cas,” says Sam.    


Dean hasn’t put Abigail down for the half hour; she’s cried herself to sleep, and he can’t seem to let her go, place in her crib. He’s not quite ready to face Pala, and if he never sees that redheaded bitch again, it’ll be too soon.    


“Don’t know why we need to keep the witch around. I say we put two in her forehead and call it a fucking day,” he says.    


“I want to keep the witch,” says Becky. “She’s powerful. She can fix the spell I’ve been working on. And I have a few other things I want her help with.”    


Dean’s too tired to argue with her at this point, so he just nods, completely drained emotionally, and he hasn’t even started his task for today.    


“Cas,” he says. “Can you watch Abigail?”   


“It would be my honor.”    


Dean gets to his feet, hands his daughter over to his most trusted friend, and then squares his shoulders. He looks at his brother, who nods, and rises from his chair. He isn’t sure he’ll be able to do this alone.   


They don’t speak on the way to the dungeon, but when Dean puts his hand on the doorknob, Sam stops him.    


“You don’t have to do this.”    


“I promised I wouldn’t quit on her,” Dean says roughly, wishing Sam was right. “Can’t quit now.”    


Sam pulls his hand away, and Dean opens the door. Pala lifts her head, smirks at him, eyes black.    


“Hello, boys. Why’d you keep me waiting?” 


	87. Fifteen

Pala knows pain.    


She’s catalogued it before; sitting in front of Trisha, while black dots danced across her vision and white hot sparks caught fire throughout her bones, muscles and skin. When her femur broke, it was like the sun had exploded in her thigh.    


She felt pain when the Mark first claimed her. It was electric and sharp, her arm lit up bright with it as she took her first breaths in two years.    


Pala knew pain in the swamp, when claws cut across neck and face, her knee twisting at an unnatural angle as she fought to keep breathing, her lungs tight with the need for air.    


She has taken a bullet to her heart, drowned in her own blood, spitting copper as she tried to speak. It was heavy, like her ribs were cracking beneath a weight she could not see.    


When Abigail came into the world, it was like she was being split in half.    


But, this.    


This is worse. 

And if she’s going to burn, so is Dean. 

*

“A Knight of Hell,” she spits, “would be a better parent than the son of John Winchester. Raised in flea infested hotels, living on Lucky Charms, leaving your brother to almost die because you needed a  _ break _ . Do you think  _ real _ fathers take  _ breaks _ , Dean?” 

*

“I wonder,” muses Pala, counting cracks in the ceiling again as fire sweeps across her, “how long it would take me to find another husband. Abigail would never remember you. She’ll call a stranger Daddy. I’ll call him that too.” 

*

“Eventually, Sam will take Becky and the brat, find a nice house in a nice neighborhood. Oh, you’ll be invited to  _ visit _ , but you won’t, because you’ll know the truth. And the truth is, he’s always had one foot out the door, always wanted more than you’d be able to give him.” 

*

“They called you the Righteous Man,” Pala simpers. “But your father was more  _ righteous _ than you ever were.” 

*

Eventually, Dean caves. He cracks, and when his brother offers to take the next round, he gets up from his chair and leaves the room. They’re only halfway through, and he feels like he may not make it through the remainder of the hours.    


He pours out the cold coffee and starts making a fresh pot. In the still of the early evening, her voice still rings in his ear, but he changes the tone, forces himself to remember who she really is, who they really are.    


_ “I’ll always be your Baby.” _   


Six years ago now, she told him she loved him for the first time. He can still remember exactly how she looked, how delicate and unsure of herself. All he ever wanted was to keep her safe, and he has failed her so completely.    


_ Georgia _ , he thinks.    


After the chaele, after Becky and Sam had already gone home, they’d holed up in Cyan Springs, let the swelling in her knee go down, let their cuts heal up, and then they’d headed home, stopped outside Atlanta for two days, and spent both of them at a small town carnival. It had been Pala’s first time on a merry-go-round. She’d ridden a zebra. They took turns winning stuffed animals at the shooting booths, giving every toy away to the children in line, cheering them on loudly, until the carnies had finally pushed them away.    


He’d kissed her at the top of the ferris wheel, like every cheesy chick flick he’s always claimed to hate. Her mouth tasted like cotton candy and cheap beer. He couldn’t get enough.    


_ “I still believe in you, Dean.” _   


Even broken and dying in a hospital bed, she’d looked at him with absolute trust and faith. He didn’t deserve it, but he’s never quit on her. He never will.    


He doesn’t bother to pour himself a cup of coffee; he just wanted something to keep his hands busy, so he grabs a beer instead, walks into the war room.    


The witch, Rowena, is cuffed and tied to a chair, with Castiel standing over her, just as a precaution. However, she’s taken her position with grace, speaking politely to Becky. Dean doesn’t trust her. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, wondering if anything she tells them is actually going to be helpful.    


“How’s it going?” he asks.    


“Oh, it’s going fine, dear,” says Rowena, smiling at him as though they’re sitting down to drink tea. “Becky has done some  _ excellent _ research, you’re quite lucky to have her.”    


“I know.”    


Becky glances up from her note-taking to give Dean a warm look, then flicks her eyes towards Rowena and back to him quickly, tilting her head. He keeps his face neutral, but he wonders what it means. His sister stands up, and walks past him towards the kitchen, where he follows, watching as she pulls her soymilk out of the fridge.    


“I don’t trust her either,” says Becky. “But, I don’t think she’s lying. It won’t do her much good if she has, because I’m going to fact check what she’s told me.”    


“How are you planning to do that?”    


Matter-of-factly, like it’s no big deal, she says, “I’m going to summon Death.”    


And then she giggles nervously. 

*

Her anger flickers at her ribcage, but she hurts too much, burns too hot to taunt anyone. When Dean walks in and Sam walks out, Pala doesn’t even bother to lift her gaze. She just stares at her knees, panting hard, muscles twitching.    


There is a war going on beneath her skin, ablaze in her blood, human and demon fighting to win; her very soul changing as flames lick across her insides. She aches.    


“Baby.”    


His voice is like gravel, but it comforts her, which is aggravating, but she tries to raise her head to look, can’t manage it.    


“Pala, can you hear me?”    


“I can hear you, Dean,” she replies.   


“It’s almost over,” he says. “You’re going to be okay.”    


“Am I? What really makes you think, when I’m human again, that any of us are ever going to be  _ okay _ again?”    


Pala laughs, more breath than mirth, and she finally finds the strength to shift in her chair, face her husband. His jaw is locked, but his gaze is gentle, rich with love and affection.    


“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” she asks.   


“I still believe in you. I still believe in us.”    


Dean takes hold of a syringe, and she stares him down as he steps closer, considers his words. What does she believe in? She just smiles at him.    


“I believe in the brand on my arm,” says Pala. “It will never let me go.”    


He doesn’t answer; she burns again.

*

And then, the fire stops. 

*

“Dean,” says Baby.    


Her voice is hoarse from her screams, and Dean rushes forward, his knees hitting the concrete floor hard enough to hurt, but he ignores it, ignores everything for his wife, his hands quick with the lock on the cuffs, his pocket knife slicing through the ropes around her torso and ankles.   


“Baby,” he says like a prayer.    


She doesn't speak again, fine tremors running through her body, and she slumps forward, into his arms, a single sob torn from her raw throat. It's an earth shattering sound that rips through him, tearing him apart like shrapnel.   


“I got you. I got you, Baby. Pala, Baby. I got you.”   


At last.   


He brings her to her feet with him, gets an arm under her armpit and around her shaking body. Her steps are unsure, feet dragging with fatigue. This, he knows. He takes the lead, heading down the hallway, away from his brother and Becky and Rowena, behind the bathroom door. Baby is covered in sweat, her face streaked with tears, hair damp from exertion.   


Dean can barely feel his relief, his joy, with Pala's silence, but he doesn't push for her words or her voice. In a way no one else ever will, Dean understands. He remembers the Mark, the violence that lived inside him, ever anticipating its next kill. He only took the Blade to the monsters he hunted, but he remembers the itch, the ache, that came with every encounter with an asshole at a bar, with witnesses that weren't forthcoming.    


He never gave in, but he wanted to. Pala has lost something he almost did, and there is nothing he can say. Some things, a person just has to live with- And it ain't easy to live with everything a hunter sees and does.    


There are no words, but he doesn't need them to make quick work of both their clothes and maneuver them into a shower, temporarily hidden from the world behind a locked door.   


She shivers beneath the hot water, and Dean looks in awe at her body, her beauty, feels loss when he finds the stretch marks that were there during her pregnancy are gone. Her steel eyes stare emptily at the porcelain as he washes her hair, her body, pliant under his gentle work and rough hands. He washes his own hair and body, then pushes her back under the spray, holding her tight to his chest until her shaking has stopped.   


Pala clears her throat, and he waits, but she never opens her mouth. He shuts off the water, dries them, wraps them both in robes and takes her hands. She sinks onto the toilet lid, and he goes to his knees again.    


And he can't help it, the tears rush from his eyes as he looks at her. Whole and his and home.   


He lets himself go, lays his head in her lap, and cries his tears into the soft fabric across her thighs. Baby smooths her fingers over his damp hair, curls in on herself to kiss the crown of his head. She presses their cheeks together, their tears mixing on their skin.    


He keeps his eyes closed, clings to her hips, fingers dug into the pockets of her robe. On her arm, beneath the sleeve, the Mark is still there. The nightmare isn't over, not yet.    


“Come on,” he says roughly. Dean pulls away, leans back on his heels. He searches her face, like he's looking for the answer to a question he doesn't know how to ask. “Let's go see our daughter.”   


But, Baby shakes her head, eyes wide with an emotion Dean can't place. She has to be exhausted, in shock as she processes the events of just the last twenty-four hours.    


He gets them to their feet once more.    


“Okay,” he says. “To sleep.”   


She nods once.   


He already misses her voice.

*

Dean watches her sleep for a long time, the deepest sleep of someone who has seen too much and been too far gone for far too long, finally home again. He knows that Sam and Becky will eventually come looking for them; they have to know by now that it worked, that Pala is Pala again, but Dean finds himself afraid to leave her side. Finally, he forces himself to let her sleep on her own and pads on bare feet to the library, where he knows his family will be.   


He sees Sam first, and he wishes to sink into his brother, let the man carry him through this last stretch, and Sam must see it in his eyes, because a second later, he is caught in his brother's embrace. His face is buried in Sam's shoulder.    


“Hey, big brother. I got you.”   


When Dean looks again, he sees Becky and Rowena, and seated beside the blonde is Death. Dean is surprised, but it isn't completely unexpected. What is, though, is the other person in the room, who grins too widely at him.    


“Hello again, Dean,” says Cain.    


He finds his voice quickly enough, asks, “Where ya been?”   


“Around.”   


“What are you doing here?”   


“I came to meet Death,” the original bearer of the Mark replies. “I've wanted to for so long.”   


“Dean,” says Sam. “He just showed up- We have no idea how.” He pauses. “Pala. Is she.”   


“She's. She's her. It worked.”   


Becky straightens up in excitement. “Pala's back?”    


“Yeah. Yeah,” says Dean. “Pala's back.”   


And so is Cain. Dean never thought he'd see him again; he'd tried a few times to find him, but quickly abandoned the search when Pala died. He isn't sure why the First Knight is here, but he hopes, would almost pray, that it's the final piece of the puzzle.    


Death is looking at them all over steeped fingers, amused and distant as always. Castiel appears in the entryway with Robert in his arms. There's enough power in this room to wage war against Heaven.   


Surely it's enough to save Dean's wife.    


But Dean hasn't felt certainty in almost a year, not since a random thief took it away with a wide shot, and he doesn't feel it now. He sighs, and drops into a seat at the table.   


He's got work to do.

*

“Once you've worn the Mark, there's no going back,” says Death, and Cain nods in agreement.   


“I had hoped by passing it to Dean, I would be free. But, it leaves a scar on your soul so deep there's no escaping it. The longer you wear it, the deeper the cut.”   


“Which is why,” explains Castiel, “Cain still maintains most of his demonic powers. But he can't truly wield the Blade anymore. Not the way Pala can, at least.”   


Dean absorbs all of this silently. His brother stands behind him, one hand on his shoulder, a silent sentry.    


“Where's Abigail?” he asks.   


“In Robert's nursery,” says Becky. “We- We thought-”   


“You did the right thing.” Dean sees the baby monitor at her side now. “Pala needs a second to breathe.”   


This time, it's Rowena who speaks. “Is she alright?”   


Dean growls. Hours ago, the bitch had tried to steal his nephew and his daughter. She couldn't find thinner ice to be on if she tried.   


“My wife is fine,” he grits out.    


There are too many people in his house. Bunker. Home. Whatever. The faster they find a resolution to this mess, the better.   


Cain says to Death, “I have wanted to meet you for a very long time.”   


“And I have wanted to meet you, Cain.”   


“I had hoped I would meet you in more direct circumstances. I think, however, the end of everything is unlikely for myself.”   


Death nods. “I have but one place to take you, Cain. You will know no rest in Purgatory.”   


“Not without the Mark,” Cain replies smoothly. “But were I to do a favor for Dean Winchester…”   


The oldest being among them considers it. Dean tries to wrap his head around the discussion happening before him. The mention of Purgatory brings back visceral, sickly memories of its purity. The blood and the running, the lack of hunger, Benny's drawl, the sweat and the fear. The demons, Leviathans, and creatures he's never found in the Men of Letters’ library, only in his nightmares.    


“There is no rest in Purgatory,” says Dean. “Even with the Mark, there would be none.”   


“Trying to dissuade me?” Cain asks curiously.   


“You can't expect me to believe you've come all this way to hand me what I want on a silver platter.”   


Cain shakes his head. “You make it sound easy. Like favors are always exchanged for purely selfless reasons. You of all people know better. I am simply out of options. I'm an old man, and I now get truly older every day. When I die, I will go to the only place left for me. My life will never truly cease.”   


“And all those sons of bitches I ganked in Purgatory? What happened to them? More importantly, what happens when one of them ganks you? What happens when the Mark no longer has a host?”   


_ When does this family's sacrifice end? _   


“There are things in Purgatory older than you, Cain,” Castiel says, returning to the conversation. He hands Robert over to Becky. Dean notes the look in Rowena's eyes as the angel does, the softness, the longing, and doesn't like it.    


“The Mark will take care of that,” says Cain. “Or do you not remember the reason your wife has been joyriding across the country?”   


Dean slaps the table open handed, making the glasses rattle. “Fuck you.”   


Sam squeezes his shoulder. “Dean.”   


Abigail's cry cuts into the room, crackling over the speaker. Becky jumps, and Robert cries out as well. She hurries to soothe him. Dean pushes his chair back, scraping the floor with a shriek. This can wait- Whatever catch in the deal Cain has, it can wait. 

Abigail sobs louder, and it pulls him from his seat. He makes it two steps.   


“Shh,” says Pala.    


No one speaks. Dean falters in his step at the sound of his wife's broken voice.   


“Shh…”   


Abigail's sobs become softer, then turn to pitiful little whimpers and hiccoughs.    


“Shh…”   


Pala begins to hum, definitely unaware she is being broadcast. Dean recognizes the tune, Led Zeppelin, even through the static. Something comes across the room.    


“Once,” says Cain, “I was a human, willing to face Hell for my family. I took the Mark like a fool, just like you did, Dean. It is mine, it has always been mine.”   


The humming stops for a second; Abigail cries once and then it resumes.   


Dean turns around, considers the people assembled before him. He walks back to the table, grabs the baby monitor and turns it off.   


“We'll talk about this later.”   


There's no break in his stride this time.

*

Pala can't bring herself to speak, because what could she say if she did?    


She sits in Becky's rocking chair, looking down into her daughter's eyes, eyes that are the mirror of her own, proof that she was once human. Now, she isn't sure.    


She recognized Cain's voice from Dean's memories, wonders at the offer he's put forth. Like she knows her husband must, she doubts the ease of it. Nothing is ever so simple for the Winchesters. If only it could be.   


There is no place left for her. Not on earth, not in Hell, certainly not in Heaven. She thinks of Trisha's promise to destroy this family, and believes for the first time that the witch who started this has won at last. Pala's family is broken beyond repair, and Pala was the one to break it.    


Silent tears stream down her face, one of Abigail's tiny hands wrapped around her finger. Her daughter is so small, but so much bigger than she was a month ago. How much has she missed? How much more will she?   


Pala is so tired.    


Dean enters, crosses the floor to crouch before them.   


“I was afraid I'd never have this again,” he admits. “I was afraid I'd lost you.”   


_ You did _ , she thinks.  _ I lost myself _ .   


“Pala… Baby, please.”   


But, she can't make her mouth move. She has nothing left to offer him. She believes her apologies would turn to ash in her mouth. She tried to steal his daughter, Becky's baby, Sam's son. Her family almost died today, at the hands of a witch she became friends with. She put them all in danger.    


“Baby. Please.”   


Pala shakes her head, lip trembling as she tries to hold in her cries.    


“Cain wants to take back the Mark, I know you heard him.”   


She huffs, almost a laugh, and he nods. Pala readjusts the baby in her arms, raises her up so her head rests on her shoulder.   


“Yeah, I think so too, but… Baby, I promised I'd never quit on you. I won't. I'm ready for this part to be over. I'm ready for us to just live our lives.”   


As though it's that easy, as though they'll wake up tomorrow in the suburbs. This is their life. It's blood, and it's pain, and it's-   


Spit up. Abigail coughs up part of her last meal onto Pala's robe, and suddenly, the dam breaks.   


She laughs, and she laughs, and she cries in shrieks and howls, not sure of the feelings bubbling up in her chest. Dean is laughing and sobbing with her, touching their foreheads together. She can almost taste his breath, the beer he's been drinking mixed with coffee, and she tilts her head and gives in.   


Their lips touch, and it's like something washes over her, through her. It should be disgusting, tastes of tears and snot and stale drinks, but she kisses her husband for a long time, soft and full. She only pulls away when she needs air.   


“Dean,” she says, and watches his eyes light up. 

*

It burns, and Pala has had enough of fire to last her ten lifetimes.    


Cain's grip is stronger than any she has ever known. While it can't be this easy, it is. She hasn't had a chance to hug her sister or speak to her brother, but she can feel their eyes on her, can feel Rowena's gaze and Castiel's protective stare. Dean stands at her back, his hands on her, doing this with her. Together, at last, and for good. She'll never be without him again.    


She goes limp as the Mark is burned out of her, leaving behind only a scar, a brand that is just an ugly reminder. There is no monster left inside her but her remorse.    


She realizes, belatedly, how afraid she had been that it was the Mark that had made Dean's child spell work, but now understands it was just him. Her most righteous man, his pure and loving spirit, made her whole.    


She drops. But, Dean is there to catch her, ease them both to the floor in a puddle of arms and legs and warmth. She buries her face in his chest, taking in deep shaking breaths in time with his own trembles. Emotion floods him, and she can hear the cacophony of his thoughts, rushing in on her all at once, wrapping her up in just him.    


“Did it work?” asks Sam worriedly.   


“Yes,” Dean and Pala answer.    


“It's over,” she says to her brother. “It's over now.”


	88. Epilogue

Death leaves with Cain, and they both wear a smile. One second they are there, and then, they are gone. 

*

Pala can't bring herself to hand Rowena over to Crowley's custody. She lets the woman who was her friend go with a warning.   


“Steal what you want, but if you hurt another innocent person, I'll kill you myself.”   


The witch just smiles, and it hurts Pala to see.    


“I hope we meet again, dear.”   


“I really hope we don't.”

*

Castiel is the last to go. There's a tension in his eyes as he promises to return soon. He says he needs to return to Heaven, but when she asks why, if he needs help with the other angels, he shakes his head.   


“I'm finished with that life. But there's someone waiting for me.”   


There's a story there, she knows, but it isn't the time for it. Not today.   


“I'll be back soon.”   


“I know,” she says, and this time, it's her turn to smile at someone.    


Her oldest friend's blue eyes are soft with affection, and then he is gone as well, leaving only the Winchesters in the bunker, at home.

*

Sam and Becky hold her together, and there are more tears to cry than they have in them. There's so much to say, that there's nothing they can. It'll all keep for tomorrow and the next day, and the next.    


At last, the four adults find themselves in the rec room, huddled too closely on the couch, watching an old sitcom on Hulu, Robert and Abigail both settled in their mothers’ arms.   


Trisha didn't win after all.

*

Dean watches, at the end of the longest day of his life, as his wife places their daughter in her crib. Pala joins him in their bed, and they watch through the slats as their daughter sleeps. She curls against him, her head on his chest. She sighs deeply, content.   


He knows, eventually, there will be a story in the paper none of them will want to pass on to another hunter. But for now, the only business this family will tend is its own, the day to day that makes a life.    


He leaves the light on, but closes his eyes, ready to sleep.    


“Good night, Baby.”

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Reader, 
> 
> Thanks for making it to the end. 
> 
> <3 
> 
> Want more UTH? Shoot me a line at prisparkman (at) gmail (dot) com. 
> 
> Love you much & always,   
Pri


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